


Blue Is My Saving Grace

by belldebubs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cas is also possessed by an angel, Doctor Castiel, Human Castiel, Hunter Dean, Hunter Sam, Lots of differences from canon, M/M, Multi, Please Don't Hate Me, Prophet Castiel, Sam Knows, Sam Ships It, dean is bi, how does that work?, just go with it, seasons are all meshed up together so the story can work the way I want it to, we'll find out together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9330323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belldebubs/pseuds/belldebubs
Summary: Castiel is a doctor in the Mercy Medical Center ER, where he loves his job in helping others. Everything in his life hadn’t exactly been a smooth ride, but he liked his life, liked where he ended up. But on a fateful day, he gets a major migraine, and things afterwards will never be the same for him.Sam and Dean are currently in Sioux Falls, deciding to stay behind a little longer after dealing with the Leviathans and giving Bobby a proper hunter’s funeral. They deserve a little R&R. But as is the Winchester way, they can’t stay away from the world of hunting for long, and soon get word of a case close by that has them scratching their heads.Featuring demons, hellhounds, monsters and, probably the biggest challenge they face, their own stubbornness. Our beloved characters are thrown into a plot with mystery, adventure, plenty of mythadventures, and even some adventures they weren’t aware they needed; all along a journey to stop the rising of a possible Apocalypse 2.0.Basically, my mind had this thought: "What if instead of Kevin being the next prophet, it was Castiel?" Thus this story is born.





	1. The First Five Minutes

Castiel finished the last set of stitches, promptly cutting off the excess nylon. He switched his tools for cleaning supplies, gently moving the boy’s hair out of the way before dabbing at the irritated skin. Only when he was satisfied that the area was sterile did he stop, looking down at the little boy sitting in front of him, whose face was scrunched into a grimace, his hands clutching at the sides of the bed he sat upon. Castiel winced in turn, feeling bad that he got carried away. Again.

“Sorry,” he supplied. “I tend to forget it can hurt when I clean the wound.”

“S’okay,” the boy replied with a cracking voice. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Cas did his best to hide his smile. This was one of the things he liked about working in an ER; the children that showed up and put on a brave face for their siblings or their mother, saying that it wasn’t as bad as it looked. It always touched his heart, and in some cases, gave him real hope for the future.

He swiveled in his seat in order to face the worried woman beside the bed, taking in her tense stance while she clutched her purse to her chest. He gave her a reassuring smile. “Your son will be just fine. It’ll take a few days for the wound to fully close, and then you’ll have to come back in so we can remove the stitches. He may complain about itchiness for a while, but that’s normal. Just make sure he doesn’t scratch it too much, and that there’s no more rough housing around sharp objects.” He gave a pointed look to the boy, who gave a sheepish grin as he ducked his head.

The woman nodded mutely, her shoulders drooping in relief with a sigh. She turned to her child, a smile playing on her lips. “And what do we say to the nice doctor, James?”

James sat up tall and puffed out his chest. “Thanks a lot, Doc,” he said with gusto, a toothless smile making an appearance.

“You’re quite welcome, James,” Castiel laughed. “You were one of my best patients so far today, so make sure you stop by the nurses station and tell them I sent you.” He winked conspiratorially at James and gave the mother a smile and a nod before standing, leaving them to find their own way out.

He must have stood too fast, suddenly feeling lightheaded and his vision becoming a tad fuzzy. Castiel grit his teeth and rubbed at his temple, making a mental note to drink more water before his shift was up. He wouldn’t be much good to others if he didn’t take care of himself first. He needed to nip this headache in the bud before it got too bad. The headache continued to throb with his footsteps, the pain gradually increasing. Maybe he could take an early lunch? It would at least give time for the medicine that he was already planning on taking to kick in.

Castiel finished the paperwork from his latest patient, and made sure to restock on the absorbable kind of sutures; he’d run out when the boy named James had come to see him. James’ forehead had been bleeding quite profusely, the cut being surprisingly long and deep for a 7-year-old, and Cas hadn’t had the time to fetch more. At least now his kit was fully stocked and prepared for whomever needed stitches next. Hopefully it wouldn’t be that kind of day. So far it hadn’t turned out to be that hectic, but one never knows; this _was_ an emergency room.

Castiel helped a few more patients before clocking out for his hour-long lunch, his headache growing ever more persistent; despite having taken several ibuprofen. After paying for his light salad and thanking the cafeteria cashier with a smile, Castiel walked his lunch to an empty table in the corner by the window. It was the spot he always ate at, his feet carrying him there automatically.

There wasn’t any particular reason why he liked to sit here more than anywhere else in the expansive cafeteria; though he did like the fact that it was relatively more quite. There wasn’t as much hustle and bustle where he sat, and he could let his mind wander freely. He watched those around him with a mild interest, gazing out the window to view the cloudy sky above and the cars zooming past in the street. This was one of the rare times that Castiel could let himself truly relax while at work, and usually he loved it.

But then, usually he didn’t have a headache; let alone one _this_ bad. It was safe to say that this was progressing into a migraine. Cas closed his eyes and bowed his head, gritting his teeth. He was going to have to take some stronger medication at this rate.

“Hey there, Clarence!”

Castiel jumped and opened his eyes, immediately hissing as the sun impulsively decided to shine through the clouds, making everything much too bright. Great; now he was sensitive to light.

“Woah, you okay there?”

A hand was placed on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze, and Cas forced himself to give a reassuring smile, even if it only turned out to be a painful grimace.

“Molly, hi,” He hurriedly greeted. Well, at least his migraine hadn’t impeded his ability to be polite. “I-I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

A woman with dark curls and a heart-shaped face took the seat across from him with a sigh, a look of concern still on her face.

“We agreed to meet up for lunch today, remember? And seriously, you don’t look fine. What’s goin’ on, Clarence?”

“Oh, just got a random migraine is all. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Molly cocked an eyebrow, her dark eyes roving his face in clear disbelief. But all she did was give a non-committed hum, and Castiel was grateful. He wasn’t sure if he could handle another lecture on taking care of himself. He knew she meant well and only wanted what was best for him; he loved her for it, but it was a little frustrating that she still didn’t much validate his decision to work in one of the most demanding positions out there.

Yes, the hours were strenuous, to say the least. Sometimes there was an overabundance of people who needed his medical attention; sometimes it was a barren ward of empty beds; and sometimes, like today, it was somewhere in the middle. But Castiel loved his job and wouldn’t dream of trading it for anything. He loved pushing himself to meet challenge after challenge, and when there was free time, he liked getting to know his co-workers better; after he resupplied his station, of course.

Molly, his friend since the time they were young and stupid, had seen his love of helping others and had fully encouraged him in his career choice. But she had never really supported his decision to become a doctor working in the ER. Castiel suspects that she had always had her own kind of plan for him, one similar but separate from his parents’. It wasn’t really much of a surprise really, given how they were raised, but it bothered him that people he cared about still compared the real him to whatever ridiculous ideas they had for him.

“You said we were meeting for lunch?” Cas said, pushing through the sudden pulsing in his temples. “I’m sorry; I must’ve forgot.”

Molly leaned her chin into her hand. “So it seems,” she huffed. She nodded towards his untouched food. “You gonna eat that?”

Castiel’s stomach twisted in dissent at the mere thought of eating; though just a few minutes ago he had been looking forward to it. “Go for it,” he sighed, shaking his head as he shoved the tray of food toward her.

Molly tsked as she picked up the fork. “I know you’re a doctor and all for the healthy lifestyle and shit, but would it kill you to get a burger sometime?” She pouted as she started stabbing at the leafy greens. “I could really go for some fries right about now.”

Cas rubbed at his forehead. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Molly. You want a burger and fries, you pay for it yourself and stop mooching off me.”

“Yeesh, someone’s a little grumpy today.” Molly looked him over as she stuffed a forkful into her mouth, something other than her previous concern flashing in her eyes. It was gone before Castiel could place it.

Cas ducked his head. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be.” Meeting her eyes, he could see she wasn’t convinced. “Molly, I’m truly sorry. I guess it’s just this damned migraine. Came out of nowhere and it’s really thrown me off guard.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed. “It’s been awhile since your last one, right?”

Cas nodded his agreement. “It’s been months. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever had one this bad before; even when it was frequent.”

This earned another hum. “It looks like it’s wearing you down pretty fast there, Clarence. You should go home; take the rest of the day off and get some actual rest for once.”

Castiel sat back, crossing his arms. “You know I can’t do that, Molly.”

She gave him a look. “Can’t or won’t?”

“They need me here.” Cas shifted under her stare, but he refused to drop his gaze.

“Today doesn’t look all that busy,” she shrugs, another forkful making it to her mouth. “I’m sure they’d be fine without you. You’ve been here what, nearly every day since you started?” She pauses to swallow and snatch the drink from across the tabletop. “I think you have more than enough sick days or whatever to cash in. You should use one. Or two or three.” She takes a sip. “However much you need, really.”

Cas turns to stare at the movement of the expansive room with a sigh. It’s true he could take a sick day, and the temptation was becoming great. But he still had patients to see, still had people to help; there were people who actually needed him.

“Lemme guess,” Molly says, using the hand holding the paper cup to gesticulate her words. “Your precious conscience is telling you that people will need you most when you’re gone.” Sometimes Cas really hated that she could read him so well.

She points a finger at him. “Don’t gimme that look, I’m only tryin’ to help. Seriously Castiel, what’s the big deal of taking some time off?”

The use of his full name catches his attention. It was very rare that Molly thought it necessary to use his full name, and just from that alone he could tell she was genuinely worried about him.

He leaned over the table, running his hands through his thick hair, playing and tugging at the strands. He should probably get it cut soon.

“C’mon, Clarence. You know it’s the best option.” Her tone was that of someone who knows they’ve won, and are just waiting for the other to admit it. It made him feel like he was five years old again, damn her.

Castiel pursed his lips and huffed through his nose. Though he hated to admit it, Molly was right; he needed to go home. It would be quiet there, and dark. He wouldn’t have to push himself and risk motion sickness, whereas here he’d have to put up with every single one of those obstacles; crying children and yelling adults, the searing sunlight or the humming fluorescents, and it should go without mention how much he’d have to move around; how it would certainly make him dizzy and nauseous. He’d be miserable, and worse, he wouldn’t be able to help anyone. Not properly, anyway. Which mattered, since it was his job. If he couldn’t do his job properly, then Molly was right and he should leave the patients to those who could actually do the job correctly .

“Fine,” he muttered, still hating himself for giving in. “I’ll leave.”

Molly smirked and rose her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “You win, okay? I’ll leave.” He couldn’t help but smile at the childlike behavior. “But I’ll wait until you’re done with my lunch.”

“Don’t stay on my account.” Molly sat back and dug out her phone, the smirk still in place and a gleam in her eyes even as she looked down at the screen. “Besides, it looks like the office wants me back,” she sighed. She waved a hand at him. “You go do what you need to so you can get outta here, and I’ll finish here and be on my own way soon enough.” Her fingers flew across the screen as she wrote out a reply.

Cas hesitated. “You sure?” Normally they spent every minute of their lunch breaks together; at least with those they could match up when it came to Castiel’s crazy schedule.

Molly rolled her eyes. “It’s not like we’ll never see each other again, Clarence. You’re sick, and you’ve been squinting at me since I sat down. I can tell the light is hurting you, so go home already. Take care of yourself for once.”

Castiel still hesitated; this didn’t seem much like Molly. But the pain of his migraine reared itself back to the forefront of his attention when the sun shone through the clouds again, making him grimace once more.

“Fine,” he mumbled, stumbling to his feet. “I’ll see you later, Molly,” He leaned over her and gave a kiss to the top of her head.

She swatted at him. “Stop being such a sap and let me eat your lunch in peace already.”

Cas chuckled as he made his way out of the cafeteria, leaving behind his childhood friend. His migraine still assaulted his mind, and rubbing his temples wasn’t doing anything to relieve the pressure. He shook his head slightly; not enough to dizzy himself, just to see if it would loosen the hold this migraine had on him, which it didn’t. He was making his way down the hallway when he had to stop, a wave of nausea and pain crashing through him so hard he actually cried out, clutching at his head.

A strong grip snatched at him and propelled him into a bathroom. He made it to the counter before he collapsed, grabbing at the sink as another wave of pain and nausea roared through him. Except this time was different.

This time, instead of just agony and an overwhelming urge to throw up, there were pictures. Images faster than Castiel could identify flashed through his mind, one after the other, nearly overlapping and not making any sense. He heard a voice; a deep, rumbling voice that sounded hazy, like it was from a memory.

_“I dunno, Sammy. It’s pretty obvious to me this guy did it.”_

The images suddenly changed to a scene of two men in suits walking up to Castiel’s door, playing out like a movie. One was taller, his longer hair swaying as he shook his head.

_“I’m not so sure, Dean. Something about that place didn’t seem right, and this guy has no record; not even a damn parking ticket. Would it really hurt just to get his side of the story first?”_

The man he was with, Dean, Cas assumed, rolled his green eyes before reaching up to knock on the red door. _“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”_

Castiel came back to himself then, hunched over the counter sink, staring at his pale face with blown eyes in the mirror, breathing fast and hard. He blinked, still trying to come back to himself before he saw all the red. He could see his own eyes grow impossibly wider as he took in what was depicted before him on the reflective glass.

It was the two men he had just seen in his head, knocking on a door. The lines of the drawing on the mirror were still wet, occasionally dripping into each other. It looked like it was done in blood.

He backed away, only then noticing the throbbing from his hand. A wide gap in the middle of his palm bled, slowly dripping to the floor. It was then that he noticed the shattered corner of the mirror, the shards of glass on the counter; one of which was bloodied. Had he… sliced his own hand? To draw a picture with his own blood? On a _mirror?_

It wasn’t until he backed into someone that he realized he wasn’t alone.

Castiel jumped back from them, muttering his apologies. The guy’s gaze didn’t leave him; he didn’t even look confused. He just gave a lazy smile while his eyes roamed over him.

“You alright there, friend?”

The question came with a drawl from another man in the corner. He was tall and toned, his brown hair shining dully in the light. While his words were certainly kind, the man’s voice and hungry look betrayed their meaning.

Cas swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to work out how to get out of this without being locked up in the psych ward. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he had no intention of figuring it out there. Not yet, anyway.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry if I… startled you. Let me get supplies and I’ll be back to clean this up.”

The broad man in front of him blocked him while the other man from the corner came forward. “Aw, there’s no need for that.” He walked up to the mirror, idly smearing together the lines along an edge of the painting. “I rather think it brightens the place up a bit,” he said, turning to Cas with a smile.

If Cas wasn’t confused by that, he certainly was when the man brought his bloodied finger to his mouth. Cas’ eyes widened when the man placed the digit in his mouth, humming and closing his eyes. He removed the finger with a satisfied sigh before opening his eyes. His _pitch-black eyes_. Even the sclera was black. How could that be?

Castiel startled back, but the broad and muscled man reached out and grabbed him roughly, keeping him in place. He smirked when Cas paled at the realization that he had black eyes as well.

_What the hell was going on?_

The other man approached him slowly, reveling in the fact that they had Cas trapped in a corner.

“Now, Castiel, I’ve got a few questions for you.” He reached forward and grabbed Castiel by the chin in a painful hold. “Do you know what we are?”

Cas shook his head. The... _thing_ in front of him blinked, his eyes returning to a hazel color. He leaned close, his breath brushing Castiel’s skin in uncomfortable puffs.

“Hmm, and… Do you know who those men are that you drew so beautifully in your blood?”

Castiel shut his eyes and tried to ignore the whispers that were much too close to his ear. “No.”

There was a pause, and then he was hunching over his knees, the breath having been knocked out of him with a punch. Another followed to land on his face, sending him to the floor.

He tried to drag himself away from his attackers, but the broad man just yanked him back by his ankles. The other grabbed him by his neck, bodily lifting him one-handed and smashing him into a wall behind him.

“I don’t believe you,” he hissed through clenched teeth, once again getting into Cas’s personal space even as he tightened his hold on his throat, nearly cutting off his windpipe.

Castiel wasn’t very religious, if at all, but he prayed to any kind of deity that might be listening at that moment, begging for a way out of this.

The lights flickered, the two men before him moving to look at each other before time seemed to stop, freezing them in place.

Cas still couldn’t move from the hold we was in, but the pressure was released, and he could breath freely once more. His eyes shut as he struggled to catch his breath from his position. When he opened them again, there was another figure in the room, a man that seemed to be glowing from within. The light washed over him, and Castiel felt much more calm than he should be right now. He felt at peace.

The figure chose then to speak, his voice shaking Cas to his soul. “My name is Raguel. I can help you, if that is what you wish. If you’ll let me.”

The figure made no move to continue talking or move forward. “Well then don’t just stand there!”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

Cas looked at him. How could he be so dense? “Yes!”

Suddenly the figure’s glow became brighter and brighter, to the point where Castiel had to shut his eyes or risk being blinded. The all-consuming white was the last thing Castiel saw.

……………

When Castiel came to, he woke up huddled on the floor. He moved to prop himself up, but came to regret that decision. His whole body ached, his mouth dry and his entire head throbbing painfully. If he had thought his head hurt before, it didn’t compare to this.

He groaned loudly as he made himself get to all fours, panting from just that simple exertion. He lifted his head then, and what little breath he had was gone with the sight he took in before him.

He was still in the bathroom. The mirror was utterly shattered, the blood drawing from earlier destroyed with it. The sinks were running, washing away small shards and any blood they came in contact with. But it did nothing for the rest of the room.

Red was splashed across the walls; was pooled in certain spots on the floor, where hands and feet had been cut off, carelessly thrown aside. Cas dragged his gaze from the discarded limbs to see the bodies they belonged to; slumped heavily against the wall or a heap on the floor. His eyes carried his gaze up the bodies to their faces. Where eyes had once been was now a smoking, charred mess.

Cas scrambled back from the wreckage before him, only to bump into something. Turning, he came face to face with another body, only this one wasn’t charred, smoking, or missing any limbs. Castiel’s medical training kicked in and he reached to see if the man before him had a pulse, but there was nothing but skin cool to the touch. He swallowed, his fear kicking in. He was in a room with three dead bodies. _He was in a room with three dead bodies._

He had to leave, he had to report this, he had to-- _No,_ a calm voice told him. Right. He couldn’t report this; he’d be the one going to jail. The police wouldn’t believe that he had conveniently blacked out before whoever did this came into the room, leaving him to be the only survivor. He barely believed it himself.

Carefully, he stood. It was then he saw that there wasn’t a drop of blood on him; despite the fact it was everywhere else. Even his palm, which had been cut rather deeply earlier, was completely healed.

Watching where he stepped, he made his way to the door, seeing the bolt locked. The bastards that attacked him had clearly planned this. The realization made him swallow, a hard lump in his throat. But _why_ go after him? It made no sense. Though, after the events of today, Cas wasn’t sure anything did.

It was with surprisingly unshakable hands that he unlocked the bathroom door and walked back into the hallway, heading towards the entrance.

His internal panic grew with every step, and he was sure that he would be caught. But something within kept him moving forward, kept him exuding a calm he didn’t feel. At all. He made it to the nurses’ station just inside the entryway, his hands placed on the counter-top and body relaxed as he waited for his turn.

“Hi, what can I--Oh! Dr. Novak!” The blonde woman before him gave him a smile, a flush working on her cheeks. He smiled in return, though he had no idea how he pulled it off. “Is there something I can help you with, doctor?”

“Yes, actually.” He leaned across the counter, getting more into her personal space. “I hate to say, but I’m actually feeling quite unwell and was wondering if I could schedule some time off?” Though he hates leading people astray, especially since he doesn’t often go after women, he could tell this nurse found him attractive. He looked at her with hooded eyes, which made her blink in surprise, her flush growing all the darker.

“O-of course! I’m sorry to hear you’re not feeling well.” She moved about, grabbing whatever papers were needed. “Just fill these out and you’ll be good to go. I’ve got to help some others, but if you’ll just leave the papers here when you’re done I’ll file them for you.”

Cas smiled at her, giving a quick glance down to her nametag. “Thank you, Amanda.”

Her smile was bright at the use of her name, before she turned to attend to the other guests at the station, leaving him to the paperwork. And his thoughts.

Where had his confidence come from? Why was he not in the middle of a panic attack? Why was he calmly filling out the papers before him without so much as a tremor in his hand? None of this was making sense! He had just been in a room with three dead bodies; two of which were brutally murdered, and--

_Castiel, calm yourself._

Immediately his thoughts quieted. Whatever tension was in his body relaxed, as if it had never been. He made quick work of the rest of the forms and left them as instructed, heading out of the building. Maybe nothing made sense, especially the unexpected, ridiculously calm voice in his head, but for now Castiel was grateful for the serenity he felt as he made the drive home.


	2. A Bit More Than A Case

 

“Hey. Dean, wake up.”

Dean grumbled, refusing to believe it was time to get up. Nothing could be so important it required him to be up at the asscrack of dawn. He hadn’t even reached the regular four hours he usually got.

He kept his eyes closed and moved around to bunch the warm sheets closer to himself. “Whaddya want, Sammy?” His voice was mainly mumbled into a pillow, it was a wonder how Sam understood him. Then again, he was probably just ignoring him as he continued to talk; in a louder voice, Dean noticed. 

“I think I found something. A case.”

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes before sitting up. “Don’t you think it’s a little soon to be lookin’ for hunts? It’s only been a few days since the whole Leviathan thing. We only just got to give Bobby a proper burial the other day.”

He hated himself for saying the words, but it  _ was _ true, and he didn’t want to worry about his baby brother more than he had to. He already knew Sam was having a hard time sleeping; that much was clear by the bags under his eyes, the way he slouched instead of standing tall. Dean knew he wasn’t exactly himself these days either, but first and foremost his job was to take care of his brother. And taking on a case right now did not sound like something fitting that category.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his chestnut hair as he sat at the table, his laptop open in front of him. “I know. But Dean, I think this is what I need right now,” he said, using those goddamned puppy eyes. Sometimes Dean suspected that Sam could read his thoughts. Or maybe he’s just really bad at hiding what he’s thinking, but he liked to think that’s less likely than a mind-reading brother.

He leaned back on a hand and used the other to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Fine,” he sighed. “What’ve ya got?”

Sam turned his attention back to the screen in front of him, leaning over the edge of the small table. “I’m not entirely sure, actually. My best guess would be a rogue angel, or something.”

“Rogue angel?” Dean asked, getting up and moving to the kitchen to make some coffee for the two of them.

“Yeah. The report is really unclear about a lot of things; doesn’t even have pictures because they’re ‘too gruesome’,” he said, accompanied by air quotes. “So I hacked into the precinct in charge of the case, and it really is pretty morbid, even for us.” Dean walked over and placed a mug in front of his brother before taking a seat beside him, leaning over to squint at the screen. Sam tilted it toward him as he continued talking. “The pictures show all the signs of an angel kill, smoked out eyes and such, but what’s different about this is that two of the three bodies found had their hands and feet cut off, along with other injuries.”

Dean hummed, not liking the sound of that. “Sounds like torture,” he mumbled before taking a drink.

“That’s what I thought. It says that they're still cleaning out the place, and it’s just a couple hours away.” Sam looked over and met his brother’s eyes.

Dean couldn’t deny that it was a case, and a pretty serious one at that. “You said there were three bodies?”

“Yeah. Two had the smoked eyes, but get this: the other was completely untouched.”

Dean looked at the images on the screen and sighed again. “You sure you wanna do this, Sammy? This sounds like a serious case, man, and I think we could use a little R&R after all the shit that’s happened the past couple weeks.”

Sam sucked in a breath and closed the laptop, leaning his elbows on the tabletop, and his hazel puppy eyes suddenly turned hard and serious.

“Dean, I’ll be  _ fine _ . I just want to hunt right now. Besides, I know you’re not doing so well, either.”

“Oh come on, don’t make this about me,” Dean scoffed.

“I’m not. This is about  _ both  _ of us. And I really think that working through whatever this case is will help us...move on,” Sam said, running a hand down his face.

Dean really hated moments like these; where he had to admit to feeling emotions he didn’t want to talk about. He looked away with an annoyed huff, turning his gaze to the window of their motel room. “Where did it happen?”

“Mercy Medical Center.”

His eyes snapped back to Sam. “This all happened in a  _ hospital? _ ”

“I know, right? It doesn’t make much sense. I mean, the only thing that people reported was seeing a bright flash of light here and there, but they didn’t hear anything…” Sam trailed off and leaned back in his chair, his thinking face on. “D’you think that an angel can use their grace to muffle the sound or something? There weren’t any sigils in the photos; at least none I could find, anyway.”

Dean shrugged, downing more of his coffee, feeling himself wake up more fully the longer the conversation went on. “I’ve never heard of an angel doing that. But that doesn’t exactly mean they’d tell us of their own free will either.” Dean’s eyes bounced back and forth between the pictures on the screen, as if they were spelling something that they just weren’t seeing. “Alright. We leave in 20 minutes, grab breakfast on the way.”

Dean had to admit, his head felt more clear with something other than all the deaths of his many loved ones to focus on. Maybe Sam was right; maybe this case would help them move on.

…………..

The drive to the hospital was quiet, each of the brothers silent as they looked out their respective windows, lost in their own thoughts. What had to be the best part of the drive was that it lasted only 45 minutes, as opposed to the 2 hours estimated; all thanks to Dean’s driving.

Mercy Medical Center was a large, spread out building, with several floors, and, Dean noticed with bemusement, it bore a cross on the side of the structure. 

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked, straightening his tie.

Dean shifted, not having realized he had actually chuckled. “Nothin’, just that there’s a cross on the building.” Sam snorted. Dean reached into his pocket to double check the name on his fake FBI badge, making sure he had the one he needed. “Alright. You ready to do this, Agent Page?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Lead the way, Agent Plant.”

After some introductions to the hospital staff, they pointed them towards the crime scene that was still crawling with police officers. They split up at this point; Sam going to inspect the crime scene with the forensic guys, and Dean lingered just outside to talk to the scant witnesses that had even less details about what they saw. The only one that was remotely helpful was the man who had found the bodies; who said that when he walked in the walls were covered in blood, the mirror smashed to bits, and the place smelled like rotten eggs. So demons were definitely involved. That explained the two bodies that had been ripped apart, but what about the other one? Dean scratched at his chin and made his way to the nurses’ station near the entrance once more. 

He stayed in his thoughts as he waited for a nurse to become available.  It didn’t make sense for an angel to leave their vessel after a successful kill. They tend to cling to the same vessel for as long as they can.

Suddenly he was greeted by a nurse in purple scrubs, dragging him out of his thoughts. ‘Amanda’ was on her nametag. “Hello,” she greeted with a bright smile. “How can I help you?”

Dean pulled his lips tight in what he hoped resembled a smile, reaching for his fake badge. “Hi. My name is Agent Plant, with the FBI, and I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me about the other day.” 

He flashed his badge, Amanda’s brown eyes flitting down to it. Her smile somewhat disappeared, her face becoming a bit pale. “Oh… Of course, what can I do to help?”

Pocketing his badge, he began the routine questionnaire. “Did you notice anything odd on that day; maybe someone coming or leaving that rubbed you the wrong way?”

“Um,” her gaze became glazed as she tried to think through all the guests that day. Dean leaned against the counter as he waited. “No one really comes to mind. We get so many people up here; it’s hard for me to say.”

“That’s okay,” Dean ventured giving a kind smile, trying to give truth to his words. “Let’s try to narrow it down a bit. We’re told the bodies were found close to the time of death; around 2pm. Did you notice anyone odd coming or leaving at that time?”

“Oh, that does help…” She trailed off, playing with strands of her blonde hair as she thought. “The only one that really sticks out to me is Dr. Novak. I thought it odd that he was leaving early; he’s normally the last to leave when his shift is done.”

Dean pulled out his small notebook, borrowing a pen from the counter to write what she was saying. “Did he give a reason as to why he was leaving early?”

“He said that he wasn’t feeling well, and wanted to take some time off. But he didn’t look all that sick to me; a bit pale, maybe, but that’s about it.”

Dean scribbled furiously to keep up. “Thank you, Amanda; you’ve been very helpful. Would it be possible for my partner and I to get a list of all the visitors that day, just in case? And if we could get access to the security footage too, that’d be great.”

“Of course. You’ll want to talk to my boss about the footage; her office is right over there.” She points to a large glass office just behind Dean. “If you go find your partner, I can print off that list for you before you get back.”

“Thanks,” he said, stashing his notebook and giving her a smile that was more genuine.

He made his way back to the crime scene, once again flashing his badge when he came across the officers. He walked inside, minding where he stepped (they had yet to get the rest of the blood), and he almost ran headlong into Sam. Who was standing on a chair. With his head in the ceiling.

Dean’s brow wrinkled. “Uh… Sammy? Whatcha got up there?”

Sam apparently hadn’t heard him. Dean rolled his eyes before smacking his brother in the leg, making him jump and nearly fall off the chair. Sam scrambled out of the ceiling tile he had lifted to glare at his brother, who couldn’t help but smirk up at him.

“Don’t give me that bitchface, Sam. It’s not my fault you couldn’t hear me.” He gestured to the ceiling. “What’re you doing up there anyways?”

Sam climbed off the chair, and Dean was grateful he didn’t have to crane his neck to look at him. Or, at least, not as much as him standing on a chair. 

“I noticed that the tile had been moved, and so I figured I’d take a look. Remember how I couldn’t find any sigils in the pictures?” Dean nodded. “That’s because they were painted in the ceiling.”

Dean’s brow furrowed once more. “What? How’s that possible? There’s next to no space up there.”

Sam spread out his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Dunno, but it’s there.” His hands flopped down to his side before he shoved them in his pockets. “Kinda hard to see, too. I took what pictures I could, and hopefully the police won’t notice it. If asked, I found nothing there.”

“Right.” Dean nodded as he surveyed the room. “Well, we’ve got a suspect. Dr. Novak. One of the nurses is printing off the list of visitors, and if we talk to her boss we can take a look at the footage during that time.”

They had both started walking out of the bathroom while Dean talked, making their way back to the front. He grabbed the list from Amanda with a nod and a smile before turning and leading his brother to the office she pointed out earlier.

The hospital administrator was a petite woman with wavy dark hair, and she introduced herself as Dr. Cuddy. She easily gave them access to the security footage from the comfort of her office, but apologized for when she had to leave to handle some kind of hospital matter. Which was fine with the brothers; they preferred to be alone for this kind of thing.

It took a while to get through enough footage before they found something interesting. They had focused their search to the hallway camera that held the crime scene in its path, and they weren’t disappointed. 

The timestamp was 1:17pm, which fit in with the timeframe they were given. Someone in a lab coat with a nest of dark hair abruptly hunched over his knees, clutching his head as if in pain. Then out of nowhere two other men stepped up and grabbed him, dragging him into the bathroom. One ducked his head out the door, as if making sure no one was watching, but made the mistake of flashing his eyes black before stepping back into the room and closing the door. Why did they always do that?

When someone tried to enter only a handful of minutes later, the door wouldn’t budge, and they went on their way. A little while longer showed them the first flash of light; the first demon killed. The second flash followed not long after, and then maybe ten minutes later, the man in the white coat walked out of the door, his adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed, his wide eyes glancing in every direction before he straightened his coat and walked towards the front.

“Huh,” was all Dean could say.

“My thoughts exactly,” muttered Sam. He rewound the tape, pausing it and then zooming in on the man with the white coat.

“So, wait… Where does the third body come into play? We saw the demon kills, but they had locked the door. So was he already in there before they started?”

“I dunno, man. You know as much as I do,” Sam answered, leaning his head to rest on two fingers against his temple. “The demons obviously didn’t kill him; he would’ve been ripped to shreds; and if the angel got to him his eyes would most likely be charred.”

Dean straightened, still lost in his thoughts. “Man, this whole thing is weird. I guess we’ll just have to talk to that Novak guy,” he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. His lack of sleep was catching up to him. “Though for the record I think he did it, and I’ll bet forty bucks that’s him in the video.”

Sam leaned back in the borrowed chair, ignoring the last bit. “Yeah, but how? I mean, one second it looks like he’s in serious pain and being manhandled against his will, and then he suddenly walks out and away, like nothing happened.”

Dean shrugged. “Who knows, maybe this is one of those rare times when we’re dealing with a psycho human. Maybe he’s a dangerous fugitive or somethin’.”

Sam looked at him with a winning bitchface. “Really Dean? That’s the best you got? Then explain the charred eyes.”

“Could be an MO. Or better yet, his calling card.” Dean was totally spitballing, but the heavy air that the two of them had been carrying felt just a little bit lighter, so Dean totally counted it as a win.

“Dean, I hope you know that those are basically the same thing,” Sam said, a smirk twitching his lips.

It was then that Dr. Cuddy walked back into the office, and Sam quickly made sure that the frame of footage showing black eyes disappeared as he cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry I had to leave. There was a communication problem between several of my doctors and for some reason,  _ I  _ was the only one who could fix it,” she sighed and rolled her eyes on the last bit, clearly frustrated with her employees. Coming to a standstill in front of the desk, she putting a hand on her hip. “I hope the footage was helpful to you?”

“Yes, ma’am, it was,” answered Dean.

Sam cleared his throat once more and rose from the chair. “I just have one more question. Could you identify this man for us, please?”

Dr. Cuddy made her way around the desk to stare at the monitor. “That would be Dr. Novak, one of our doctors in the ER.” Dean nudged his brother’s arm at the confirmation. Sam only shot him a glare. “He’s one of the best we have here, though he’s turned down any kind of promotion I offer to him.” Her face became scrunched with worry. “You don’t think he’s connected to this, do you? He’s a very gentle man; I can’t imagine him hurting a fly.”

“We’re just looking at any and all possibilities, ma’am,” Sam answered, his kind eyes and small smile shining through to reassure her of his words. “As I understand it, he took some time off, right?” At Dr. Cuddy’s nod Sam continued. “Do you happen to have his address on file? We’d like to talk to him as soon as possible.”

“Of course. Give me just a moment, please.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Dean rounded on his brother. “You owe me forty bucks!”

Sam rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh, obviously exasperated. “Dean, I never even agreed to your stupid bet in the first place, and secondly, why would I give you any money? You owe me like, $200!”

They moved in front of the desk, and Dr. Cuddy returned shortly with a small piece of stock board paper. “This has his address, and my number should you need my help with anything else.” She handed the card to Sam with a smile, who took it with ease and a forced smile.

“Thank you for your help and your time, ma’am,” Dean said, but her eyes didn’t waver from Sam’s face.

“Of course. Please let me know how your investigation goes.”

“Will do. Have a nice day, Dr. Cuddy,” said Sam, grabbing ahold of Dean’s wrist and practically dragging him out of the office.

Dean yanked his arm free as they made their way to the parking lot. “What the hell, Sammy? She was totally into you! Why don’t you wanna stick around?”

“I could ask the same thing, Dean.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Sam slanted a look at his brother. “The nurse? She was checking you out. How did you miss it?”

Had she really? Huh. Dean truly hadn’t noticed. Instead he said with a scowl; “I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah, well same here.”

They had reached the Impala at this point, and both opened their respective door with an annoyed huff.

“Okay, where’re we headed? We gotta go before the cops catch on.”

Sam told him the address, Dean started the car, and off they went.

……..

The house they were parked down the street from was decent sized; two-stories, colored in variations of white, with a set of blue-carpeted stairs leading to a veranda with pillars, and the door was painted a vibrant red; which Dean thought a bit odd, but to each his own. The lawn and landscaping looked picture perfect, clearly well taken care of. It looked homey and welcoming; except for all the closed blinds on the many wide windows. 

“Dude’s got some nice digs,” Dean said, keeping his gaze within the binoculars he held.

“Yeah. Apparently the house belonged to his late parents. It was given to him and his step-sister, Hannah Carroll, but she didn’t want it, I guess.”

Dean hummed in reply, still watching the house as Sam click-clacked on his laptop. Though Dean hated the thought of changing anything in regards to Baby, he’s extremely glad that they bought one of those hot spot things; though he’ll never admit it out loud.

“Dean, there’s next to nothing on this guy. Castiel Novak went to medical school in California, came back when his parents died, and has basically been here ever since.”

Dean dropped the binoculars and turned to his brother. “Well, doesn’t his life sounds boring. Whaddya say we catch this guy?” He didn’t wait for a reply before climbing out of the car and heading across the street to the house. The sunlight glared at them from the windows as night crept ever closer.

Sam jogged to catch up to Dean. “D’you really still think that this guy did it? I think we should just--”

“Yeah yeah, I know. But come on, a past that clean and dry? I dunno, Sammy. It’s pretty obvious to me this guy did it.” They were now at the top of the stairs, standing in front of the door.

Sam shook his head. “I’m not so sure, Dean. Something about that place didn’t seem right, and this guy has no record; not even a damn parking ticket. Would it really hurt just to get his side of the story first?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he turned to the door, giving in to his brother's ‘think first shoot later’ attitude. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Before he could rap his knuckles on the wood, the door flew open to reveal Dr. Novak; whose blue eyes were blown wide, his hair sticking out every which way and stubble shadowing his face.

“How are you guys here already?” he asked, his voice low and rough, but shaky nonetheless.  

Warning bells shrieked in Dean’s head, and he only spared a quick glance to Sam before he was tackling the guy to the ground. Sam pulled out his gun and locked the door behind them.

Dean leaned back only when he was sure that he had the other man pinned down. “You know who we are?” he demanded.

“Yes. I-I mean no!”

Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, who looked just as confused as he was, but the doctor kept rambling.

“I mean, I-I’ve never met you before, but after yesterday…” he trailed off.

“What happened yesterday?” Dean demanded, giving the smaller man a shake; who cowered at being manhandled, but his eyes sparked bright with irritation.

“That’s just it; I don’t even know! One second it’s a normal day, then I’m having a migraine and seeing things, and the next thing I know I wake up in a room covered in blood with three bodies!”

Dean abruptly let him go, climbing to his feet. Sam lowered his gun, but kept it at the ready, and both brothers kept their eyes on the doctor. Castiel stayed sprawled out on the floor, raising himself to lean on his elbows. 

“Sammy, this doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah. I’m with you there.”

Castiel spread his hands from his awkward position. “How do you think I feel?” They ignored the comment and continued their conversation, Dean turning to Sam.

“You think he could be just another vic?”

“It’s possible.” Sam’s brow furrowed in thought. “But I don’t understand how.”

The doctor continued to mutter in-between their words. “Sure, just ignore me. That’s fine.”

“Wait. Maybe we’re looking at this wrong,” Sam said, brushing his hair out of his face as his eyes shifted around in thought.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just the man you tackled to the ground inside his own home,” Castiel huffed.

“I mean, we were just looking for the angel. We never stopped to consider why the demons were there in the first place.”

Sam had a point. Demons rarely did anything just because they could. Most of the time they were out to get themselves more power. Like friggin’ Crowley; a pompous crossroads demon who had somehow become the ‘King of Hell’. “Makes sense, but what would they want with an ER doctor?”

“Angels? Demons?”

The brothers finally turned to see a shaking Castiel Novak now standing in front of them. He seemed to shrink in from them, the baggy red jacket he wore thoroughly dwarfing him. “Is that what those men were?”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. Great. He really wasn’t looking forward to the whole ‘monsters are real’ spiel; he’d let Sam have this one.

“What men?” Sam asked, playing the ever loyal brother.

“The-the men that took me into the bathroom.” Castiel’s voice was quieter than before, almost sounding small. “Their eyes...turned black before they started beating me.”

Dean stepped forward, clapping a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “You might want to sit down for this.” He turned to Sam. “I’m gonna see if he’s got anything to drink.” With that, he abandoned his brother to the many questions he knew the doctor would ask before he could argue.

He easily found the kitchen; a wide, open space with a cozy, rustic feel to it. He immediately began digging through cupboards to find glasses, and hopefully, some kind of liquor. Dean’s pretty proud of himself in how he hasn’t gone straight to the bottle like he’s done countless other times when losing a loved one, but now seems like as good a time as any. He really wasn’t looking forward to whatever shitfest was sure to come. If nothing else, he should be able to toast his semi-sobriety.

Dean soon found some glass tumblers, which gave him further hope that he’d find something to drink. It took more digging than finding the glasses had, and more time than he thought it would before he surfaced victoriously with a bottle of Jim Bean in his hand. Not as good as Jack Daniels, in his opinion, but it would do.

After pouring a healthy dose in each tumbler, he followed the hushed voices of conversation to the living room; which was also wide and spacious. It made Dean feel like those who lived here didn’t care much for privacy, and that made him uneasy. It also made it a bit harder to defend, if it ever came to that. There were next to no hiding places, nowhere he could wait until his enemy ran out of bullets before taking a shot himself.

He handed out the drinks, sitting down in a plush armchair across from where the doctor sat on a couch. Sam had perched himself on the piano bench in the corner, and Dean was sure he could find a way to tease him about that later. 

“Okay, we all caught up now?” he asked, his gaze flicking between the other two men. 

Sam gave a nod. “More or less. Now, Castiel. Why don’t you tell us what happened to you the other day?”

“I… I can’t believe this is all real, but, uh… okay.” Castiel took a long swallow from his glass, presumably to prepare himself to tell his tale of woe. “Everything was fine until just before my lunch break. I-I got a headache; a really bad one. I took some medicine and tried to keep working, but it just kept getting worse and soon I had a migraine. I’ve had headaches and migraines in the past, but this one had to be the most painful by far.”

Dean cast a glance at his brother, whose hazel puppy eyes were doing their magic to the max; but Dean could practically see the wheels in his mind turning as he processed the doctor’s story. Dean wasn’t sure what a few headaches had to do with anything, but Sam looked like he was cataloging it away in his mind for later. The other man continued to speak after a shaky breath.

“Then I met Molly for lunch, who convinced me to take the rest of the day off and get some rest. And I was leaving when those bastards dragged me into that bathroom.” He took another breath, accompanied by another swig of alcohol. “My migraine reached its peak, and I...I’m not sure what happened next. But I saw images; a lot of them, and I don’t know what of. And then I saw you two, walking up to my door.” The brothers shared a look, not liking how this story was going. “It-it was like I blacked out or something; because when I came back to myself, I…I had broken the mirror, and used a shard so I could draw a picture in my own blood.”

“What was it you drew?” Dean asked, his brow furrowed.

Castiel raised his piercing blue eyes to meet Dean’s gaze as he hesitated. “It was...the two of you. Standing outside my door.”

Dean leaned slowly back into the cushioned back of the plush chair while his brother fidgeted in his perch on the bench at the news. He brought a hand to rub across his face as he gave a sigh. 

“What’ve we gotten into, Sammy?” Dean knew his brother didn’t have an answer; he just wanted to fill the sudden heavy silence that had descended in the room. 

“Is this the first time you’ve… ‘seen’ something while having a headache?” Sam asked. Dean could tell just from the tone of his voice that Sam was in a Man of Letters mode, looking at this unique situation through scholarly eyes. And knowing Sam, he was probably on to something that Dean hadn’t yet thought of. Like all the other times this happened, he let his brother take the lead, sitting back and watching from the comfort of where he sat.

“Yes,” Castiel answered, his gaze now on Sam. “Though I don’t see how that’s in any way important. I’ve had plenty of headaches and migraines before; none of which had me seeing things. Wouldn’t the two things be separate?”

Sam shook his head. “Not necessarily. I think it’s a bit different for everyone; but considering we don’t have a whole lot of information about this kind of thing anyway, I can’t say for sure.”

“Sam, what the hell are you talking about?” Normally, Dean could follow Sam’s line of thinking pretty easily; but this time it felt like he had skipped a few essential parts in what he was trying to say.

Sam turned to Dean, and sure enough, there was that scholarly spark in his eyes. “Dean, you remember the whole thing with Yellow Eyes? How I was seeing things before they happened, and every time I did, I’d get a major headache?”

Dean straightened in his seat, getting caught up in what Sam was saying. “But that was  _ years _ ago, Sam. You think the same thing’s going on here and now?”

“I think it’s a possibility,” he said with a nod. Sam turned his eyes back to the doctor, like he was trying to dissect the answer from him with just his gaze. “But I think this is something completely different from what Yellow Eyes was trying to do to me.”

“How so?”

Sam was still eyeing the doctor with a studious curiosity when he replied. “Dean, when was the last time we’ve seen Chuck?”

Dean was taken aback, to say the least. “You think this Bucky Barnes wannabe is the next  _ prophet? _ ”

“What?” the doctor squeaked, his blue eyes wide and flicking back and forth between the brothers. He suddenly deflated, planting his face in his hands, his fingers digging through his hair. “What the hell is happening? Is any of this even  _ real? _ ”

Dean was still trying to wrap his mind around what Sam had suggested; that the man in front of them now was the new prophet. Which would ultimately mean that Chuck is dead, given that there can only be one on the earth at a time. But Dean liked Chuck. Begrudgingly, maybe, but still. He at least wants more than a few seconds to mourn the loss of the weird, jittery little man. He didn’t want to deal with the doctor’s sudden panic attack that the world as he knew it is no longer an actuality.

“Listen, Doc-” Before he could start laying into the doctor about how this is his inevitable reality, a knock on the door cut him off. The three men cast glances at each other, out the window, and towards the entryway, as if the person outside would suddenly waltz in. “You expecting someone?” Dean asked, already knowing the answer, but hey, a guy can always hope.

The doctor shook his head. “No,” he answered; but continued when he saw the brother’s skepticism. “I swear; I haven’t called the cops or anything. I really don’t know who that could be.”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, a hand dragging across his face. “D’you think if no one answers they’ll just go away?” he asked Sam, already knowing it wasn’t likely. The Winchesters never had that kind of luck.

They remained in their seats and waited; but, que bad luck, there was another banging on the door. “Open up, Clarence! I know you’re in there!”

Dean’s eyes shot to Sam, who looked at him with just as much disbelief as Dean was sure his own face was showing.

“You don’t think…” Sam muttered, his gaze trailing towards the entryway once more.

“Could that really be Meg?” Dean asked into the air, not expecting to hear a scoff from the man across from him.

“No, her name is Molly. I’ve no idea who this Meg person is, but I’ve known Molly since we were children.” Castiel stood from the couch. “She’s a good friend; she’s probably just wanting to see how I’m doing.”

Dean’s stomach sank somewhere out of reach. Damn it.  _ Dammit! _ Here’s the shitfest he knew was coming, but he feels no way prepared. How did the demons manage to mind-whammy the doctor into thinking Meg was a friend? Not only a friend, but a friend who  _ cares? _ This is so far from right, on so many levels.

And the Winchesters are in no way ready to face it.


	3. When Demons Come A'Knockin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! :) So sorry for the long wait to get this chapter up, I've been kinda struggling, so I apologize. But please note that taking forever to write things drives me nuts too, so you're not the only ones. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope to hear from all of you how you like the story so far. Thanks for reading guys!

“Doc, I don’t know everything that’s going on, but I know for a fact the person outside is _not_ your friend,” Dean stated, his eyes on his customized Colt, cocking it after checking the amount of .45 ACP ammo left. Silver or iron bullets may not do much in regards to demons, but it at least slows them for a second or two, and every second counts when it comes to life or death situations. Despite their lives currently being in jeopardy, Dean felt nothing but calm. These kind of things happened to the Winchesters a lot; it’s like their second nature, if not their first.

“Dean, there’s a lot of ‘em here,” Sam called out as he thundered down the stairs. “From what I can tell, there’s at least two watching the back, and including Meg, three in front.”

Dean nodded and looked away, trying to figure out the best way out of this mess; preferably with minimal damage. Five demons means that this case, or whatever the hell it is, is important. And that means they can’t let Castiel out of their sight; at least until they know what’s going on.

“We’re gonna need holy water,” he announced, but Sam was already rushing to the kitchen.

“On it. Castiel, where’s your salt?”

The doctor followed the giant into the kitchen, sputtering his confusion and protests. Apparently he still didn’t believe that ‘Molly’ was really ‘Meg’.

Dean took another look around the open room, immediately seeing in his mind’s eye what furniture he could use as a type of cover, if it came to that. He _really_ hated the open space, but there was nothing he could do about it now; he didn’t want the demons thinking something was up when they saw the overturned furniture. If it came to a showdown, they’d just have to improvise and fight through it.

He could feel the coat of his suit stretching tight across his muscles, so he shrugged it off with a grumble. “Of friggin’ course we’d have to fight friggin’ demons in our friggin’ suits…”

The open space was as covered as it was going to get (which was not at all), so he made his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. “Sammy, I got an idea.”

Sam was just finishing up the cantation for the holy water in the sink. “Well, let’s hear it.” He began separating it into whatever containers he could find hurriedly, including the flask Dean handed to him.

Dean eyed the doctor who was fidgeting in a corner as he watched with wide eyes. Dean sighed with the thoughts of all that could go wrong before turning back to Sam and going into his plan. “They can’t know that we’re here already, so we need to use that advantage. But sooner or later they’re gonna get in here and it’s going to get ugly. If we’re getting out of here in one piece, then someone’s gotta get Baby and be ready to peel away at a moment’s notice. You think you can take the demons out back?”

Sam’s face paled as Dean explained. “Dean, taking on three demons by yourself; do you really think you can get out in one piece with those odds?”

“You got anything better?” Dean demanded. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got my gun and holy water; you give me Ruby’s knife, I’m good to go. But-”

“Castiel!” Meg called through the door in a sing-song voice. “I just want to check on you. You gonna let me in?”

“Sam, we don’t have _time_. Give me the knife, sneak outta here and get the damn car. I’ll hold them off as long as I can, and I’ll make sure they don’t get the doc.”

Sam pursed his lips in disapproval, his eyes flashing the warning of an upcoming lecture--if they were able to get away--but he didn’t argue. He huffed a breath and gathered salt and a small bucket of holy water before leaving the room, muttering something about stupid older brothers with a death wish.

Satisfied that Sam was going along with the plan, he turned to Castiel. Who was now huddled in a ball on the floor. Not good.

“Doc?” He moved to Castiel’s side. “Cas, hey! You okay there, buddy?”

The doctor was hyperventilating, his blue eyes glazed over and unfocused. Great, he was having a damn panic attack. As if there weren’t enough things against them at the moment.

There was another round of knocking on the door. “Castiel, you okay? If you don’t answer soon I’m coming in myself.”

Dean cursed under his breath before his attention went back to the doctor. “Hey. Hey Doc,” he snapped his fingers in front of Castiel’s face, who blinked as his eyes slowly came back into focus.

“How is this happening?” he muttered. “How is this real?” Dean could see he was about to lose him again. Before that could happen, he reached out and grabbed at the doctor, who blinked again; the focus of his blue eyes settling on Dean.

“Cas, I know this sucks. I know this is scary; believe me I know.” He met the doctor’s gaze head on, doing his best to convey strength and comfort. “But if we’re going to get through this, I need you to do your part. You think you can do that for me?”

Castiel blinked again as his brow furrowed. “Part? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I need you to act like your normal self; at least for a little while, okay? The people outside can’t know that anything’s different. I gotta hide, but I’m watching out for you, you got that? I’m not letting anything-”

“I’m comin’ in!” Meg yelled. The door started to shake as someone began to kick at it.

Dean cursed under his breath before giving a reassuring squeeze to the doctor’s shoulder. “Just do your part; I’ll be watching and hearing everything.”

Before the doctor could say anything Dean was on his feet and moving away, trying to find a place to hide. There wasn’t anything in the kitchen; it was just a bunch of cupboards, none big enough to fit him. He suddenly remembered seeing a door in the hallway leading to the kitchen, and he was barely able to close the door--leaving it open a crack so he could see and hear--before the front door gave in and banged against a wall.

“Cas?” Meg called. “Castiel, you okay?” Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the amount of fake concern he heard from her voice. Seriously, how could the doc not tell that she was going way over the top? This whole thing was ridiculous.

He could hear several pairs of footsteps crossing the room; one of them thundering above Dean’s head as they headed up the stairs. Dean seriously hoped that Sam had found his way outside by now; otherwise things were about to get real hairy. He reached for his flask of holy water and tightened his hold on the knife Sam had given him before they separated, knuckles going white as he waited. He may not need to be ready to pounce, but always better safe than sorry.

“Molly?” That was Castiel, and his voice was seriously shaky. “What are you doing here?”

From his vantage point, Dean could barely manage to see where the doctor was still huddled on the floor. Meg gave a scoff before crossing the room to crouch in front of Cas, slightly blocking him from Dean’s view.

“I think the better question is why you’re on the floor, Clarence. Besides, didn’t you hear me knocking?”

“That doesn’t mean you needed to break down my door.”

Dean resisted the twitch of his lips. The doctor sounded more sure of himself, even annoyed at the prospect of having to replace that ridiculous red door.

“What can I say, I was worried about you, Clarence. I’m just glad that you’re okay.” She paused. “You _are_ okay, right?”

Dean could see the eye roll Castiel gave. “Yes Molly, I’m fine.” He reached out to grab the counter behind him, pulling himself to his feet. “I was… I was just…” he trailed off, obviously not knowing what to say. Dammit.

“Lemme guess,” Meg said as she rose as well, probably crossing her arms. “You saw the news, am I right?”

“I...yes.”

Dean sighed internally, grateful that the doctor was smart enough to catch onto the out that Meg unknowingly gave him. “I...I saw the news, and I just…”

“It’s tragic, isn’t it?” Her voice was bored, but Meg reached out and placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, as if she were trying to comfort him. Dean wouldn’t have believed she’d do anything remotely like that if he hadn’t seen it for himself. “That’s actually why my friends and I are here.”

Well, didn’t _that_ just sound comforting.

Castiel blinked. “What do you mea-”

There was a sudden thudding above Dean’s head, cutting off with a crash at the bottom of the stairs.

Meg whipped her head around at the sound, her face cold, stony, and all too familiar. She stormed past where Dean hid in the closet (haha, how ironic, Sam would love this) and toward whatever had tumbled down the stairs.

“What the hell Larry?” Meg yelled. Wait. There was an actual demon named Larry? _Larry_ of all things?

There was a low grunt followed by a clatter and heavy breathing as, Dean assumed, the demon returned to his feet.

“Wait; you’re bleeding. What the hell happened up there?”

More breathing before a single word was gurgled out with what Dean thought was just a tad too much hate: “Winchester.” Well, so much for the element of surprise.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Meg huffed. “Which one?”

“The tall one. He was on his way out the window. I tried to grab him, but he shot me and kicked me down the stairs.”

“We never heard a gunshot.”

“He used a pillow to muffle it.”

Dean couldn’t hold back his grin if he tried. _Atta boy, Sammy,_ he thought. He couldn’t help but be proud of him.

There were shouts coming from outside the house, getting louder as they got closer to the kitchen door. Dean was just able to see the woman the demon was possessing stumble through the door, her hair wet and her skin still red and steaming from what had to be holy water.

“He came out of nowhere! He knocked out Dave and doused me so he could get away.”

Okay, first Larry, now Dave? What was with these demons and their lame-ass names? At least Alistair and Azazel were more original and at least somewhat badass.

“Which Winchester?” Meg demanded, her voice cold and sharp.

“The really tall one.”

“That means there’s one still out there. We need to find him. _Now._ ”

Well crap.

In what simultaneously felt like simple seconds and drawn out hours, the door to where he was hiding was ripped open. Dean had no idea who he tackled, he just plunged the knife deep into the demon's chest as they fell, the demon crying out as their meat-suit flashed different shades of orange.

He kept his hold on the knife while others were shouting and surrounding him. Taking note that he was now in the living room, he jumped up, yanking the blade from the dead weight body. His eyes locked on his next target: Meg; also known as the bitch who had been a pain in his ass for far too long.

The demon with the wet hair threw herself at him as he advanced toward Meg, but he was quick to use her momentum against her and throw her through the bay window and out to the front lawn. If he were lucky, a large shard of glass would damage the demon’s meat-suit.

Dean once again turned to Meg, feeling a boost of confidence from downing two demons in the space of mere seconds.

Meg didn’t look all that concerned, though her eyes did spark with a wariness as her gaze took in Dean’s stance and the bloodied knife in his hands.

“Hey, Dean,” she drawled, tilting her head and they started unconsciously started to circle each other, looking for an opening. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

Dean gave a sardonic smile. “Well Meg, I wish I could say you’re a sight for sore eyes, but I really haven’t missed that ugly mug of yours.”

“Still a flirt, I see.” Meg rolled her eyes. “How ‘bout we skip the foreplay and just try to kill each other?”

“Fine by me, bitch.”

With that they both threw themselves at the other, trying to get the upper hand. Meg managed to dodge or block the hand with the knife, Dean’s anger and frustration growing each time. He blocked and dodged whatever he could; yes, taking a hit here and there, he was man enough to admit that, but they never fazed him. Dean reached to find his flask of holy water, hoping to take her by surprise, but he came up empty-handed. Damn, it must’ve fallen when he tackled that first demon.

Didn’t matter, he could win this without cheating. Though she was small and fast, Meg’s movements started to become predictable, and Dean was able to quickly gain the upper ground, forcing her backwards toward the kitchen. He somehow knocked her feet from under her, sending her sprawling to the floor with a clamor. He towered over her, knife in hand, and a vicious smile on his face. He placed the sole of his boot against Meg’s throat, effectively keeping her in place as she struggled.

 _Finally_. After too many years of taunting and torment, she was at his complete mercy. This was his chance to permanently end her. Dean switched his hold on the knife, raising it and bracing himself to stab her right in her smug-ass face.

“No!”

Dean turned to eye the doctor with surprise, some of the red fading from his vision. The man was still near the counter corner, his hair even more disheveled and a hand outstretched. His blue gaze was scared and pleading, though Dean wasn’t sure what exactly for. He couldn’t seriously be asking for Dean to spare Meg. Could he?

Before he could think on that any further, Dean was bowled over and pinned to a wall by a significantly bigger demon, the hand with the knife yanked painfully behind his back, making the blade clatter to the floor.

“Lemme guess,” he grunted. “You must be Dave.” He berated himself for forgetting about him. God _dammit!_ Why was it that every time, _every friggin' time_ Dean was about to kill that skank something just _had_ to force its’ way between him and his end-goal?

He could hear Meg catching her breath in a cough. “‘Bout damn time, too. What took you so long?” She seemed to regain her composure before sauntering up to where Dean was pinned, grinning her stupid little smirk at him. “You got pretty damn close there, Dean-o. A+ for effort.” She had the audacity to reach out and pat his face. “Keep his arms pinned, but turn him to me.”

The demon he threw out the window earlier latched onto his free arm, her grip sure and strong. God damned demon strength.

“So lemme guess; this is the torture part.” Dean still had adrenaline pumping through his body, the darkest of reds still in the corners of his vision. If it were done here and now, or even if they decided to just outright kill him, he knew he could fight back, get through it with minimal scars; mental or physical, didn’t really matter to him, he'd just prefer not to add onto either.

Meg regarded him. “Well, as much as I would love to, and believe me, it would be an absolute _joy_ , I can’t. I don’t ‘have permission’. Boss says he wants his way with you first,” she rolled her eyes with an obnoxious pout.

Wait, Meg was working with someone? Last Dean had seen her she had been on team Free Lucifer. As far as he knew all of his followers had been wiped out by Crowley, including those head honcho demons. So who was Meg working for now?

“But,” Meg continued, her smile brightening. “He didn’t say anything about if you, I don’t know, ‘theoretically’ tried to escape.” Well shit. “Larry,” she drawled, her eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “You still got that switchblade on you?”

Dean could hear the lady demon huff a laugh, while the big guy next to him smiled and dug out the thing in question. Meg took it from him and without much showmanship she flipped the blade into view. It was relatively wider than the ones Dean has for himself; the blade was even a couple inches longer than what was legal. Figures.

“Molly, what on earth are you doing?”

Those words seemed to snap whatever tension was hanging in the air. It was obvious that they had all temporarily forgotten the other man; Meg froze, the blade still in her hand. She looked annoyed, but quickly traded it with a deceptive smile before turning and addressing Castiel.

“Clarence, I know that things might seem a bit… crazy, right now, but trust me, this guy more than deserves it.” She spun around, fire in her eyes as she jammed the blade to the hilt into Dean’s thigh. He cried out, doing his best not to further damage his leg as he momentarily became a dead-weight. He had been hoping that it would catch the two holding him up off guard, but they didn’t even so much as blink. If he could just get these goons off him, he could make a dive for the knife and kill all these sons of bitches; he was sure of it.

Meg met his eyes, her malicious grin growing as she started to twist the knife where it was still buried in his thigh. He gritted his teeth against the pain, not wanting to give the skank the satisfaction of crying out more than once. His eyes squeezed shut, his mind focusing on blocking out the amount of pain. Good god did it hurt.

Suddenly something splashed against his face, all the demons around him crying out at their own pain. His eyes opened as he fell to the floor, no longer being supported by two demons. Dean barely had the time to take in the sight of Castiel holding his now empty flask and his pale face before he was scrambling to reach the knife he dropped. The lady demon was the first to recover and come at him; consequently she fell right on top of him, the knife plunging deep into her chest as her features gave a light show. Dean shrugged her off him and reached for the blade that was still wedged in his leg, gritting his teeth as he ripped it free. Probably not the smartest thing to do, but he didn’t care at the moment; he just wanted it gone.

Dean looked up to see Dave the demon advancing now, and though he was still sprawled on the floor, Dean readied his hand with the knife. But there was no need. A loud bang pierced through the air and Dave was blown to the side.

Dean’s gaze flew to the ripped open entryway, where his brother was cocking a shotgun. He pointed it at Meg, who stood stock still but looked pissed about it. “Castiel,” Sam said, his eyes never leaving Meg’s face. “Help my brother to the car outside.” His voice was cold and hard, no room for argument of any kind.

“Jeez, Sammy,” Dean huffed, even as the doctor helped him from the floor. “What the hell took you so long?” The weight on his leg was killing him, but he refused to show it.

“A demon came after me. Get to the damn car, Dean.”

With Castiel’s help, albeit reluctantly accepted, Dean managed to quickly stagger past his brother and out the door. He made the doctor get in the back seat first before following him. There was another bang and Sam came rushing out of the house to the awaiting car. He flew into the driver’s seat and took off quickly, the wheels squealing before they caught the road. Turning back, Dean saw Meg rushing out after them, her eyes fully black as she glared at them while they drove away.

“Ha! Serves the bitch right,” he laughed, but soon grimaced as his leg twinged with pain. “Sam, hand me the rag from the glovebox, would ya?”

Sam huffed as he complied. “What did I tell you, Dean? I _knew_ something like this would happen!”

“Well good for you Sammy. Whaddya want, a gold star?” He pressed the rag against his wound, though it didn’t seem to do much despite the amount of pressure he used. He hoped the seats didn’t get stained with his blood. “At least we got out of there and we’re all okay.”

“Dean, you’ve got a gaping hole in your leg!”

“So? I’ve had worse, I’ll be fine.” His eyes locked with his brother’s in the rearview mirror in a heated gaze until Sam was forced to look back at the road.

He turned his attention back to his leg. Shit, he was bleeding pretty bad. He was so focused on trying to figure out how to make it stop he didn’t notice the man next to him moving around until he reached out, making Dean start.

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel murmured. He had a belt in hand, gently moving it to wrap around Dean’s leg above the injury. “This will help stop the flow.” He cinched the belt as tight as it would go, making Dean grunt. “You’re lucky Meg didn’t get an artery.” Dean can’t say why exactly, but his stomach twisted as he realized this was the first time the doctor had referred to the demon by her real name. Castiel seemed to refuse to meet his eyes, all his attention on Dean’s injury.

“Thanks, Doc,” he said. It didn’t mean much, but Dean didn’t know how else he could apologize for ruining yet another life with the world he lives in. All he could do was try to impress all he felt into those two, too simple words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: Pillows don't actually really muffle a gunshot. It does in movies and on tv, but not in real life. I just couldn't think of what else Sam could've used to muffle the sound of the gunshot. And actually, pillows do muffle it, but only somewhat. It's still loud enough to hear from a good distance.
> 
> If anyone's interested, the reason why it's able to muffle at all is that the loud 'bang!' sound is the gas expanding from the chamber of the gun, and if there's more space/air for it to expand into, the quieter it'll be. Or something like that anyway, to my understanding. 
> 
> Again, hoped you all liked the chapter, sorry it took so long to post, and I hope to hear your thoughts! :)


	4. A Very Normal End to a Very Normal Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to point out once again, I'm really not all that savvy on all things medical. If there are any mistakes, they're all my own, and I promise I did my best to research everything I put into the story. 
> 
> Enjoy!

They drove for a while. But Castiel barely noticed; his attention was more focused on the gushing wound of the man next to him. He had managed to find a well-stocked first aid kit with the help of the long-haired man who was driving.  _ His name is Sam, _ Cas reminded himself. With the kit in hand, he quickly went into what Molly-- _ No, her name is Meg _ \--called his ‘doctor mode’. It was when he became so wrapped up in trying to fix an injury that he hardly noticed anything else. But he had to admit it was hard to block out the bickering of the brothers.

“Sammy, I’m fine! We’ve made good headway getting back to the bunker, let’s just finish the trip.”

“Dean, we’re not even a third of the way there! And your leg is still bleeding like crazy! We need to find a motel for the night so that we can get you stitched up and make sure it’s not infected.”

Dean scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “I doubt it’s infected, and the doc can stitch me up from back here.”

The car jostled even as Castiel shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. M0--Meg might not have gotten an artery, but she was pretty close. If I try to stitch it here, in the dark no less, I could risk nicking it myself. That’s a risk I refuse to take.”

He glanced up at Dean, only to see his eyelids flutter. That wasn’t a good sign. Cas quickly reached up to turn on the cabin light of the car before turning back to his patient. Dean’s face scrunched up as he tried turning away from the sudden light, but Castiel wouldn’t let him. His hands reached out and grabbed at Dean’s face, making him meet his gaze. His green eyes were unfocused, his face was pallid and sweaty, and his breathing was heavy. His body was going into shock, and by the looks of it, Dean may not remain conscious for much longer. None of this was good.

“Sam, we need to get to the nearest motel. Now.” Cas scrambled to pick up all the stray pieces of fabric he could find and stacked them against Dean’s leg, putting his body weight into it to create as much pressure as he could. Dean grunted against it, but Cas didn’t have the luxury of caring if it hurt this time.

“Why, what’s wrong?” Sam asked worriedly, even as he took the next exit into a remote town.

“His body is in shock, and I don’t think he’ll remain conscious for much longer. I believe the wound is worse than I originally thought. She might have struck a major vein.”

Sam cursed and sped up, the engine revving loudly in protest.

“No, guys seriously, I’m gonna be fine. We can’t… we can’t risk Meg finding us close by.” It was obvious to everyone that Dean was struggling to stay awake; his words began to slur and his eyes blinked rapidly, trying to keep sleep at bay.

“Dean, stop pretending you’re fine and just accept that we’re stopping. You have no say in this,” Sam declared. Dean’s head lolled back on the headrest behind him, his eyes fluttering. Not good.

“Dean, I need you to stay awake. Can you do that?” Cas said, more of a demand than a question.

“‘M tryin’,” was the reply, but Cas could tell that if Dean wasn’t engaged in something he’d fall unconscious. 

“Sam, keep him talking.” Doing his best to keep as much pressure on the gash as possible, Cas looked through the kit for anything else he could use to stem the flow of blood.

“God damn it, Dean!” Sam yelled. When Castiel told him to keep Dean talking, he hadn’t expected this. Maybe Sam was in some kind of shock as well? “You’re bleeding out in the backseat of your car, and you seriously wanted me to drive all the way back to the  _ bunker? _ What is wrong with you, man?”

“Oh, I dunno Sammy. Maybe I just don’t want Meg to catch us when we have to rely on your sorry ass alone to get us out of any trouble.” Dean’s voice was strong and sure now, even annoyed. “Now would you go and book a room already? I don’t want to stain the seats more than I have to.”

Castiel looked up long enough to notice that they were now in a shabby motel parking lot. Sam must have driven much faster than Castiel had registered. The man in question unfolded himself from the car, slamming the door with a bang that shook the frame before jogging off to the office.

“Dammit, how many times have I told him that Baby is a lady?” Dean grumbled.

Castiel had Dean place his hands on his wound before he focused on tying together corners of loose fabrics, a makeshift belt coming forth. He was still shocked, to say the least, with the sudden knowledge that the world is not actually what it seems, and he needed to keep Dean talking, so Castiel figured he might as well try to get some answers.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked, and though he wasn’t sure why it was his first question, he was still curious. His fingers swiftly finished tying the ends of fabric together when he realized it was too quiet. Cas quickly raised his head; the sudden silence making him think that perhaps Dean had fallen asleep, only to see that wasn’t the case. His gaze landed on Dean’s eyes, which were squinted in such a way that it made Castiel freeze. He couldn’t read much into the other man’s expression, his eyes were still unfocused, but his instincts told him that staying still was probably the best call.

Dean must not have found anything malicious in Cas’ gaze, turning his head away with a sigh. “Since I was four,” he muttered.

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? You’ve been doing this your whole life?”

“What’s with the twenty questions, Doc?”

Frustration flared through Cas. “Forgive me, I wasn’t aware it was considered rude to ask questions to the man who saved my life.” With that he cinched the makeshift belt closed over the injury, making the other man hiss in pain. He may have cinched it too tightly, but he justified it with the excuse of added pressure against the injury. 

The driver’s door suddenly flew open as Sam crouched back into the car. “We got the corner room by the alleyway,” he said as he cranked the car into gear, moving towards their room. “I figured we could park the car there so it’d be harder to see.”

“Good idea, Sammy.”

It didn’t take long to park the car, and in minutes Sam was helping Castiel haul Dean out of the car and into the small room. Dean cursed and griped the entire way; he tried pushing them away at first, saying he could walk on his own, but soon had to give in to their help.  He still made sure to let them know how much he hated it .

They stumbled through the doorway and all but threw Dean’s dead-weight onto the nearest bed. Sam tossed the first aid kit to Castiel before he went around the room, closing the blinds and drawing the curtains before turning on the lights. 

“I’m gonna try to clean up the backseat before anyone can look inside. Castiel, you got this?” 

He merely nodded in response, his eyes wholly focused on searching through the kit for the things he needed to stitch up Dean’s leg. “Great. Dean, don’t be an asshole.” The door creaked to a close behind him before Dean could throw him a deadly glare.

Finally finding the scissors from the kit, Cas went about cutting and moving away the fabric of Dean’s pants from the slash on his leg.

“Whoa, Doc; buy me a drink first.”

He did his best to ignore Dean, but Castiel couldn’t help the clench of his jaw. “I need to clean the wound, but I don’t see any-” He was cut off by a flask being shoved in his face.

“It’s whiskey. Sam tossed it before he left.” Castiel took the flask but hesitated to open it. “Look Doc, it’s all we’ve got.”

“You should really add some rubbing alcohol or something to your kit.” Cas sighed as he twisted at the cap. “I doubt the wound even needs cleaning, but…” Without ceremony he dumped a healthy amount of the liquid onto Dean’s thigh, making him jerk and cry out. “Better safe than sorry,” Cas muttered under his breath.

“God, I’ll never get used to that.” Dean placed his hands against his injury, keeping pressure while he waited for Castiel to get what he needed.

Cas readied a needle and thread, prepared to stitch the wound closed as tightly as he could. “I take it you’ve done this several times in the past?”

“Yeah. Lost count of how many times Sammy’s stitched me up, or vice versa,” Dean sighed. “Too damn many, that’s for sure.”

Castiel spared a glance at Dean’s face before he moved his hands off the injury. He gathered the opposing sides of the wound together so he could stitch them closed, Dean hissing through gritted teeth as he worked. He started with the needle and thread, irritation flaring through him when Dean grunted with nearly every pass of the needle and tug of the thread. He wasn’t even halfway.

“Stop being a baby, you’re a grown man,” he admonished, his eyes never leaving his work. 

“I may be a grown ass man, but that doesn’t mean this is a damn day at the spa,” Dean spat back.

Sam burst his way through the door before Castiel could think of a comeback, several bags thrown over his shoulder. “I got what I could; threw a blanket over the seat just in case.” Dean griped about the car seats being ruined; Sam just continued over him. “Is there anything else you need, Castiel?”

“A bowl of clean water, a towel, and some soap.”

“You got any more booze, Sam?”

“That’ll just thin out your blood,” Sam called on his way to the bathroom.

“And I’ve almost finished, Dean, so there’s no point in trying to numb the pain now. I’m more concerned with the fact that you’ve lost a considerable amount of blood but are still conscious.”

“What can I say, it’s hard to knock me off my game,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

Sam scoffed as he crossed the room to them, bowl in hand and a towel over his shoulder. “More like you’re too damn stubborn to let yourself pass out.” He set the supplies on the floor, crouching next to the doctor at work. “Castiel, I can finish that up for you.” He must’ve seen Cas hesitate because he continued in a soft tone; “I’ve done it plenty of times before, and I think you might want a shower and a change of clothes.”

It was then that the realization of everything that had happened stabbed into his mind with such a force it turned his stomach. The vision, the bodies, the demons… He could feel the blood draining from his face, his eyes widening. Sam reached out and stilled his hand; it had started shaking.

“It’s okay Cas. I’ve got this. You can borrow some of Dean’s clothes for now; we’ll get you some of your own later.” Sam gently took the needle out of the doctor’s hand, watching him carefully. “Go ahead and get in the shower. I’ll put some clothes for you by the door.”

Castiel stood jerkily to his feet, his gaze drawing down to his clothes, now spattered with blood. His hands were covered in the rich color, and he swallowed back what panic he could. “Right. I’ll… I need a shower.” He stumbled his way to the bathroom, the door banging to a close behind him. 

He stripped out of his clothes as fast as he could, throwing them as far away from himself as possible; his hands shaking the entire time. He rushed to the sink, turning the water on full blast before he stuck his hands under the spray. He washed his hands in a frenzy, watching the stained water wash down the drain. He laughed mirthlessly; it was like he was watching life as he knew it slipping out of his fingers all over again.

……………….

“You were an ass, weren’t you?” Sam asked, cinching the stitches to a close over the injury. He handed the bowl, towel, and soap to Dean before moving out of the way; Dean insisted on cleaning himself up.

Dean rolled his eyes before he got to work cleaning the latest addition to his marred body. Looked like this one would scar red and angry, damn it. There was a time where, after he had been pulled from hell by the dickbags upstairs, he hadn’t had a scar or scratch on his body. But it’s been a few years since, and he’s gained several new scars to more than make up for the ones he lost, but that doesn’t mean he liked being covered in scar tissue.

He sighed as he started wiping down his thigh. “The dude’s fine, Sam. And so am I, thanks for asking.”

“That’s the thing, Dean. He’s clearly  _ not _ . And I seriously doubt you are either.”

Dean closed his eyes, his jaw clenching at the flare of annoyance and anger he felt. “Sam-”

“No Dean! What the hell was with that bullshit plan you came up with?” He sat down on the other bed with a shake of his head. “I mean, I know we lost Bobby-”

Dean’s head snapped to him with a glare. If looks could kill, Dean was sure Sam would be on the floor by now. Sam raised his hands in placation before he continued. “And that sucks, it does, but really Dean. What is it with you and this death wish?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, Sammy.” Dean padded gently at his thigh with the towel, the blood slowly coming off. Hopefully, Sam would actually take a hint for once and leave him alone. But that never happened before, so why should it start now?

“Bull, Dean. We could’ve come up with a better, more foolproof plan to get away from Meg and those demons, but you were hellbent on taking three of them on your own; you even almost bled out because of it!” Sam gestured to Dean’s leg for emphasis. 

“Yeah, I was  _ there _ Sam.” Dean threw down the towel and carefully stood, slowly making his way to his duffle bag. “The plan worked, so why’re you bitching about it? I don’t remember  _ you _ offering a plan. And why’d you offer my clothes to the doc?”

And there was the famous bitchface. Dean had wondered when it’d show up today. “The dude’s like, a foot shorter than me; your clothes will fit him better.”

Dean hummed with a nod, chastising himself internally for having to even ask, making himself lightheaded in the process. He placed out a set of clothes for the other man before finding some for himself. Sam mercifully stayed silent as he did this, though it didn’t last long. Dean could practically  _ feel _ his brother thinking about his next words as he changed into a fresh shirt.

“Dean-”

“ _ No _ , Sam. Just… no. I’m done talking about this. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about anyways.” He flopped down onto the other bed, his back to Sam as he snuggled his face into the pillows, still being mindful of his thigh.

Sam sighed. “Dean,” he tried again, his voice soft.

“Good  _ night _ , Sam.”

Dean heard the heavy sigh his brother gave, heard him eventually make it to his feet and probably sit down at the table, based off of the creak of old wood. 

Maybe he had been a dick towards the doc. Which wasn’t saying much; he was always a dick, so why was he even thinking about this? But the doc  _ had  _ potentially saved his life tonight. 

He heard the whir of a fan in a laptop, the dim click-clack of keys as Sam pressed them in rapid succession. 

Dean knew Sam was right; he should take it easy on the new guy. But how the hell was he supposed to say ‘sorry your life is ruined ‘cause you’re the next prophet and I’m bearer of bad news’? How was he supposed to let yet another stranger into his life, when the most likely thing to happen was for him to just be yanked away by an untimely, and most likely painful, death?

The water was still on in the bathroom, a gentle pitter-patter in the background. A fan rattled as the AC unit in front of him kicked on, joining the white noise flowing through the room. Everything combined in such a way that despite himself, Dean began drifting toward that deceiving blackness that seemed to offer comforting silence. But Dean knew better by now; the only thing waiting for him were nightmares made of blood, bones, and screams. 

The last thought he had before he succumbed to the pain he deserved was that he’d find some way to make it up to the doc. He’d find a way to at least let him know he wasn’t a complete dick all the time.

……

Sam stared at his brother’s back as Dean lay down, disappointment and frustration settling in him with a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. He shook his head, deciding that, for now, the best move was to leave Dean be. His brother was the most stubborn person he had ever met, and it had always gotten worse whenever they had lost someone they cared about. Which was understandable, but each time they lost someone, the death seemed to rock Dean that much harder, drove him to a dark place that was increasingly harder to get him out of.

Sam could tell that Dean tried to hide it, tried to hide that he wasn’t doing okay, but it wasn’t all that easy to fool him. Hell, they were basically the supernatural world’s version of detectives, so he always noticed when Dean suddenly wasn’t able to look himself in the mirror, when he distracted himself with sex, not to mention the constant need to keep moving. Dean drank more than he ate, and more often than not Sam woke to the sound of Dean fighting through another nightmare. Sam knew those same nightmares; it’s why he avoided going to sleep for as long as possible. So he also knew that maybe now wasn’t the best time to push him.

He sighed once more before standing and making his way over to the too-small table, snagging his laptop on the way. He got as comfortable as he could before booting up the machine and quickly getting lost in whatever research he could dig up. Maybe there was demon activity he could find to help them figure out what was going on. At the very least they could try to trap and interrogate one.

He was only brought out of his reverie when the bathroom door finally opened, steam escaping to roll across the floor in the yellow light. Sam looked up at the creak of the door to see Castiel hunched in on himself as he staggered to the open bed and sagged down onto the edge, his arms crossed and hugging his shoulders. The doctor’s hair, though damp, was mussed just as much as it had been earlier, if not more. His frame shook and his teeth chattered, adding to the white noise of the room; Sam could hear it even over the sound of Dean’s snoring. Sam spared his brother a glance, glad that for once he actually got to get the rest he needed before he turned his attention back to the doctor.

“Castiel?” His voice was low and soft, trying not to startle the other man. The doctor jumped at the sound of his name regardless of the quiet tone Sam used, and he felt a pang of guilt. The guy must be more shook up than Sam had thought.

“What?” The doctor’s voice was low and rough even with that one simple word. 

Sam hated himself for what he was about to ask, but what else could he say? It was with a sigh that he asked; “How’re you holding up? You okay?”

Castiel just stared at him for a moment, his face clearly saying he couldn’t believe he was being asked that question. Then he started to laugh. Sam blinked, not expecting that kind of reaction at all, so he could only watch as the doctor continued laughing maniacally to himself, to the point where there were tears in his eyes. The doctor eventually calmed down, still hunched over, and Sam decided to give him another minute before he tried again, but there was no need.

The doctor turned once again to him, but all signs of whatever kind of mirth he had felt were completely gone. “I was a doctor in the ER. I had a stable life, I was happy with where I was. And then, all of a sudden, it turns out that my best friend since childhood isn’t really my friend, but a demon, because apparently those things actually exist. She and some other demons are hunting me for some reason, and I’m supposed to believe I’m a _prophet_ _of the Lord?_ I didn’t even believe a god existed!” He shook his head and looked away. “In the past twelve hours, I’ve had a vision, been attacked by demons, even at my own _house_. I saw demons, who look like people, torture your brother in front of me before getting murdered, and a total of five dead bodies; some which were torn to bits. To top it all off, I’m stuck with the two men who changed it all the most. So no; all in all I’m not okay.”

Sam scratched an eyebrow while he took in what the doctor said. Well, at least he was still freaking out. It might not be the kind of freakout Sam had been initially expected, but it was still a freakout; he could find some way to handle it.

“Yeah… Yeah, I get it, Castiel. It’s a lot to take in.”

Cas snorted. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” At Sam’s confused look, he continued; “From my understanding, you and your brother have been doing… whatever the hell you call this type of thing, since you were merely children. So excuse me if it offends you that I don’t take your sympathy at full value.”

Well damn. Sam had dealt with several freakouts when it came to people finding out that the things hiding in your closet and under your bed are real, but Castiel’s take on it was quite different so far. Sam had never come across someone who had laughed about being put in the situation he was in now, never mind that he didn’t think Sam’s concern was genuine. He cleared his throat and scooched his laptop to the side, doing his best to continue using a softer approach.

“You know, that’s not exactly true,” he said, folding his hands together and leaning against the tabletop. He waited until the doctor met his gaze. “Me? I never wanted this life. I hated it; still do sometimes. But at one point I was able to get out. I left and got a chance to live the life I thought I wanted.”

Blue eyes flickered across Sam’s face, like the newcomer was searching for some kind of fine print to contradict what he was saying. “So why are you doing it now? What happened?”

Sam bowed his head, the muscles in his jaw working as he fought back the pain of the memories. It still hurt to this day, even though it happened years ago; he suspected it always would. He cleared his throat before he started speaking. “I left for college. Stanford, actually. I was going to law school.” He gave a grim smile at the memory. “I did well in school, made friends — even got a girlfriend. I thought I’d been able to leave the things my family hunted behind, but it turns out that wasn’t the case.” 

He unconsciously began to rub his left ring finger as he leaned back in his seat. “My girlfriend Jess, and I… we were doing really well. We moved in together at one point, and soon afterwards I was going to ask her to marry me.” Sam momentarily looked up, the blue gaze of the doctor still on him, though now it was much less hostile. “Dean came and found me; our dad was missing, and he needed help to try to find and save him from whatever monster might’ve taken him. So I went with him, and we didn’t find dad, not then anyway. Dean dropped me back home, and I was so glad to be back, I didn’t even think to check if something was there. Couldn’t find Jess at first; thought she was in the shower, so I went to bed. Then I look up to see her pinned to the ceiling, with her middle cut open.” He saw Cas’ face pale and his throat work as he tried to swallow. “She was still alive; I could hear her breathing. Then she burst into flames, and I couldn’t do anything. Dean burst in and dragged me out while I watched the woman I loved burn alive. It was the same way our mother died when I was a baby; both of them were killed by the same demon.” He cleared his throat again, shoving away his emotions. “Long story short, I’ve kinda been hunting - that’s what we call it, by the way - since then. Plus it helps; knowing that people are still out there, still  _ alive _ because of what Dean and I do. It sucks ass, but I think it’s worth it.”

“Sam… I-I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t even begin...” Cas’ eyebrows bunched together as he trailed off, his blue eyes glowing with sincere apology.

Sam flashed a quick smile at him. “It’s okay, Castiel. I’ve had time to… move forward.” The other man dropped his gaze to the floor with a sigh, like he couldn’t bring himself to meet Sam’s eyes anymore.

“Cas,” he said. “You can call me Cas. Seems like we might be stuck together for a while; might as well get used to each other.”

Sam huffed through his nose. “Will do Cas. We’ve got a lot of road to cover tomorrow; you should get some sleep.”

Cas nodded and continued to sit where he was. “What about you?” he finally asked, turning his quizzitive gaze to Sam.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep watch; make sure nothing nasty tries to kill us.” Castiel didn’t seem to like that response, so he added; “If nothing else, I’ll be able to catch some sleep on the way back to the bunker.”

That seemed to appease him; at least until he asked; “What’s this bunker you keep mentioning?”

Sam sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Look, it’s late; we can talk about it more in depth tomorrow. Go to sleep Cas. You need it after the day you’ve had.”

He nodded once more, this time actually moving to get under the covers before curling in on himself. It was clearly just for show; Sam knew, as he assumed Castiel did, that the poor man may not be getting a good night’s sleep for a good long while.


	5. Just a Regular Start to the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear friends!
> 
> I just wanna say a quick thank you to those who read this story, and a special thank you to those who leave comments; y'all are amazing and I love you for it! :D You guys seriously have no idea what it means to me when you tell me what you think :)
> 
> Also, just a quick reminder here that for the story to work the way I want it to, all the seasons of the show are kinda meshed up together, and not all of the bad stuff that the brothers got dealt in the show when they made stupid decisions (like letting out the Darkness or whateves), is going to appear in the story and have an impact on them. Does that make sense?? 
> 
> For example, Dean doesn't have the Mark anymore (mentioned in this chapter) but the Darkness isn't involved in this story beyond a mention or two here and there. The main plot of the story is my own twist to seasons 8-to whatever other season I see fit. Sorry if it doesn't make much sense, but please tell me if you're ever confused as to what's going on and I'll do my best to explain!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you continue to enjoy the story and let me know what you think; I'll stop ranting and shut up now :) Enjoy!

Images flashed, twisted, and burned all around Castiel. People, places; alive or dead, busy or deserted. They changed so fast he barely had time to register what it was he saw. He refused to blink for fear of missing something.

It took a while for him to realize there was a particular shot that kept repeating; that of an old, worn-down farmhouse. From different angles he saw the beat-down roof tiles, the weathered and flimsy boards that resembled the structure of a long forgotten home. It was ominous, like something inside the structure was emanating a threat to whoever approached. 

The images flashed again, and this time it was a series of the Winchester brothers, sometimes broken and bruised, sometimes holding their guns at the ready with grim determination on their faces; even sometimes smiling at some private joke.

_ “Castiel,” _ a deep voice called, echoing around him.  _ “They’re coming for you.” _

Suddenly he was staring into Molly’s face, but her eyes were black, and the grin she wore was grim and feral. Not Molly,  _ Meg _ .

_ “They will find you; you need to take care, Castiel.” _

The images disappeared, and now he was looking at the ruins of his living room at home. He spun around, taking in the destruction: the broken door hanging by a hinge, the bay window smashed while curtains fluttered in a breeze, the upturned or destroyed furniture. He was just turning to the kitchen to take in the clutter when his arms were forced down by a fierce grip on either side.

He tried to jerk himself free, his heart thumping in his chest. It was when he heard a laugh; a frosty, malicious laugh that sounded too familiar but completely strange at the same time, that he looked up only to freeze. Molly--no, Meg, was standing in front of him, her eyes dark and cold, her smile just as feral as before. She sauntered up to him, crossing her arms in front of herself when she stopped less than a foot away.

Their gazes were locked; his breathing was getting fast, his heart pounding harder. If he was reading the situation correctly, this seemed like the time for torture. If that was going to happen, Cas supposed he could get through it; the worst case scenario would be for him to die, therefore no longer having to deal with his world that turned upside down. That’d be fine with him, if he were honest. But the Meg in front of him just stared him down, her eyes no longer black, and that smirk still in place. She made no move to hurt him; she didn’t move at all.

“If you’re not going to do anything, then let me go.” The words were quiet, but his voice didn’t waver.

Meg tilted her head to the side, her grin growing even wider, if that were possible. “Sorry Sugar; I’d love to dice you up myself, but there’s a line and it’s not my turn,” she said, stepping aside. Cas followed her with his eyes, brow furrowed in confusion before he heard another set of footsteps coming towards him. He looked up and froze.

“Hannah?” he hushed, not believing it was possible to see her. Why was she here? Could she be possessed, or a captive of some kind? She didn’t look like she’d been captured; her hair wasn’t mussed, her clothes weren’t dirty. Why was his sister here?

She gave him a small smile, looking just as shy as she had when she was a child. “Hello, Castiel. It’s nice to see you.”

Cas swallowed. He didn’t like how Hannah seemed completely at ease, how she seemed completely indifferent to seeing that he was being held back by two demons with a third one not even three feet away. “Hannah… What are you doing here?”

Hannah clasped her hands in front of her. “Well,” she said, hanging her head, her dark bangs hiding her face. “Because, dear brother,” She lifted her head, and Cas felt his stomach drop and his heart stutter. Her eyes were black. “I’m first in line.”  Before he could contemplate what was happening, she produced a knife and started closing the distance, a grin growing on her face just as feral as Meg’s.

_ “Castiel?” _

He could do nothing but watch in horror as his sister came closer to slowly drag the knife along the skin of his neck, beads of blood dripping down.

Air hissed into his lungs through gritted teeth. He made himself open his eyes and meet the black of his sisters’ empty gaze. “Why, Hannah? Why are you doing this? Is that even really you in there?”

She blinked, and he was staring into the gray eyes of the sister he knew; except they were angry. “I can assure you, Castiel, it’s only me in here,” she seethed, before plunging the knife into his stomach without warning. He cried out and hunched over, the pain being worse than he could have imagined. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blade stuck in his gut, the hand that belonged to his sister holding it in, but what hurt worse were the words she said next: “It’s Hannah, and trust me, I never had to become a demon to want to do this to you.”

_ “Cas… Hey Cas!” _

Castiel wrenched himself upright, gasping for air and hands desperately clutching at his stomach to stop the flow of blood. He looked down and saw bed sheets, but there wasn’t any crimson staining them.  _ What?  _ How was that possible? He’d been stabbed! Wait. Why was he in a bed?

“Castiel?”

At the sound of the voice, he stopped shoving the covers around and jerked his head up. He saw a tall man with long brown hair watching him with concern. 

“Cas, you okay?” A hand was stretched towards him but came no closer, as if he didn’t know if Castiel would welcome the touch or bite off his appendage. 

His breathing was returning to normal, but his heart continued to pound. “Who… Where-” He cut himself off as it all came crashing back to him: Meg, demons, and the Winchester brothers; Sam, who was still watching him closely, and Dean, who must be asleep in the other bed.

“Right…” he swallowed heavily and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Sam, I-I had a very, erm… realistic dream.”

Cas saw the spark in Sam’s eyes as he crouched closer, his long limbs folding together as he sat next to him on the edge of the bed. “Was it another vision?” he asked, and Castiel could tell that he at least tried to hide the eagerness in his voice.

“Um…” Cas trailed off and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, trying to remember more than being brutally stabbed by his sister, but he kept coming up short. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so… Really it was just more of a nightmare.”

Sam nodded. “Makes sense. You’ve been through a hell of a lot in just the past 24 hours. It may take time, and I know it’s not as comforting as it should be, but adjusting to living this life, it’ll get easier.”

Castiel couldn’t help the huff of air escaping. He wasn’t sure if it was in disbelief that it would get easier, he just knew there no trace of humor to be found.

“Listen,” Sam sighed. “I hate to do this right now, since we don’t know what’s going on, but we’re low on supplies. Plus it’d be nice to get some breakfast. Are you okay if I leave for an hour or so?”

Cas’ brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam’s lips twitched in a smile. “It’s not that I don’t think you’ll be okay, I just don’t want to take the chance that Meg will find you while I’m gone. Dean is recovering, and despite his stubbornness, he won’t be able to do much if it comes to a fight.”

As if he sensed that they were talking about him, Dean shifted on the other bed, mumbling something incoherently into the pillow he snuggled closer.

“Anyway, he should be waking up soon. Feel free to ask him whatever questions you have; I’m sure you at least have a couple.” Sam smirked when he glanced at his brother again. “Plus it’s his turn.”

With those three words, Cas was suddenly back in the ruins of his house, his sister stabbing him with the knife while Meg grinned off to the side. His breathing became ragged again, he could feel his hands clenching into fists and his teeth grinding against each other as he tried not to scream. Hannah yanked the knife out to plunge it back in, and he couldn’t look away from her black eyes. She pulled the knife out again and brought it to his neck, pressure building until-

A hand on his shoulder brought him back. He stared at Sam with wide eyes, struggling to get out of his head and live in the present.

“Cas… You sure you’re okay? I can wait until Dean wakes up, or we can wait until we’re closer to the bunker.”

Cas swallowed. “No. No, I’m fine. I think… I think I just need some time to adjust. Go and get what you need, Sam.”

Hazel eyes swept over his face as Sam considered him. Eventually he nodded. “Okay, Cas.” He removed his hand from Castiel’s shoulder. “One more thing; what’re your sizes? I’ll see if I can find any clothes for you.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if I just went with you?”

Sam sighed again and looked out the window. “It would be, but I don’t want to leave Dean alone, and I don’t want to risk there being a demon out there that recognizes you. I think it’s best for both of you to stay put and stay low for now.”

Castiel nodded his understanding. He rattled off his sizes and soon Sam was out the door and the room returned to an uneasy quiet. As the quiet crept back in, so did his thoughts. He kept seeing Hannah, normally so sweet and shy, stabbing into his stomach again and again. He kept looking into her eyes; stormy gray one second, black and empty the next. Well, there was no way he was going to go back to sleep. 

He quietly got out of the bed and made his way over to the more open space of the small motel room. He began doing warm-up stretches, his breathing coming in and out in measured breaths. His heart began to calm from the pounding before, but he grew too hot. He carelessly tossed his borrowed shirt onto the unmade bed before he decided to move on to more difficult poses.

………..

Dean felt quite comfortable for once. He was warm, the sun shining on him through a crack in the curtains, the mattress under him wasn’t totally made of rocks, and the room was relatively quiet. His mind was fuzzy, but for once it was just because of waking up in the morning. It was a rare thing for him to wake up gradually, so he was content to just bask in the sleepy haze for a while.

Being careful of his aching muscles, he dragged his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched himself with a yawn. He got up despite the throbbing of his thigh, his mind set on making a pot of coffee before he changed the bandage. He turned to follow through with his plan when he froze, confused at what he saw.

The doctor was… seriously, what was he doing? His legs were straight up in the air; his toes were even friggin’  _ pointed _ . His hands were on either side of his lower back, elbows on the floor and taking the weight of his suspended lower body. His head lay on the floor as well, his chin basically pressed into his chest, and overall it just looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Uh… Doc? What’re you doing?”

In a move that looked impossibly complicated, Castiel lifted himself from his elbows to take his entire weight on just his hands, effortlessly going into a handstand. How the hell did he do that?

He opened his blue eyes and met Dean’s gaze upside down. “Good morning, Dean. If it weren’t obvious enough, I’m currently doing yoga.”

Dean did his best to cover his laugh with a cough. “Really? You do yoga?”

Cas rolled his eyes before he smoothly lowered his legs back to the floor, ending in a position Dean could recognize as ‘downward dog’, or whatever the hell it was. Castiel sighed as he settled into the position. “Yes, Dean, I do yoga. And I actually enjoy it.”

Dean didn’t even bother to hide his huff of laughter this time. Making his way around the doctor, he made it to the kitchenette and went about making a pot of coffee.

“You know, there are actually quite a few benefits from doing yoga,” Cas said behind Dean’s back.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Doc.” He smiled to himself as he focused on dumping in the grounds. “I’m just not really all that into things that’ll make me a pansy.” Satisfied with the way the coffee was coming along, he turned around and leaned against the counter, studying his fingernails. “Besides, isn’t it just mostly stretching? How the hell can that do anything for you?”

“You mean besides increasing one’s flexibility?”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed. “That kinda goes without saying.” He looked up as he heard the doctor shifting again, and whatever else he was going to throw into his retort died in the back of his throat. _ Son of a bitch. _

The doctor was now fully suspended by just his hands, his body horizontal. His arms were bent, and Dean could see many muscles rippling along his body as they fought to keep him in the air. 

“Well, depending on the pose, it improves muscle strength and tone, along with your respiration; it gives you more energy, and is good for cardio and circulatory health. For starters.” His voice was even and steady, despite the quivering in his muscles, and Dean had no idea how he could pull that off.

There was a pause in the conversation, where Castiel stayed suspended by sheer willpower and Dean couldn’t make his wide eyes look away. The dude didn’t look especially ripped, but here he was, holding himself up horizontally with just his hands. “Huh…”Dean scrubbed at his chin while he considered the sight before him.

The coffee machine dinged behind him a while later, and he turned to pour a healthy dose of the liquid for both of them. He figured Sam was out and about doing something or other, so he could worry about getting his own cup when he got back. 

“How do you like your joe, Doc?” He turned back around to see the Castiel had changed positions once more. This time he was just sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back straight and his wrists resting on either of his knees. “What, done already? Don’t stop on my account, Doc.” He couldn’t help but smile into his cup as he took a sip.

Cas’ eyes were closed as he retorted; “I sincerely hope you know that ‘Doc’ is not my name. Feel free to use my  _ actual  _ name once in awhile.” He took a measured breath or two before he continued, his chest expanding with each inhale. “I’d prefer to make my own cup of coffee, and unfortunately yes, this is my last pose.” With that, he stretched himself up to his feet and leveled Dean with an icy blue gaze. “Normally yoga relaxes me, but it’s a bit hard to relax when someone is purposefully aggravating you.”

Dean placed a hand on his chest in mock hurt. “What’re you talking about Doc? I’ve just been tryin’ to have a conversation.”

Castiel just glared at him for a minute more before he moved beside him to make his own cup of coffee. Dean made sure to turn his head away before he let his smile fully show.

……

Fast forward past a breakfast of greasy take-out, showers, and a rushed job of packing all they had, the Winchesters and company were in the Impala, already several hours through their drive back to the bunker.

If Dean were honest, this was probably his happy place; driving his baby with next to no one else on the road, the sun shining and warm, music blaring in contrast to the engine roaring beneath him… It gave him a sense of comfort and control that nothing else ever could. The only thing to rival it was driving on a stretch of road at night.

He cast a glance to his brother, who was slumped as much as he could be against the passenger window, asleep despite the music and the engine. Poor kid must’ve stayed up all night again. That was the fourth time this week. It didn’t seem fair that Sam was constantly on his Dean’s back about taking care of himself when Sam didn’t even take his own damn advice. But Dean could understand the need to not go to sleep, the want to stay up for as long as he could simply to put off the inevitable torture his dreams would bring for just a little longer. There’s nothing like bloody nightmares to make you the most productive you can be.

Speaking of, even though Sam must’ve been running on fumes, he had managed to think ahead and get Castiel some clothes. At least that was one more thing checked off the list of things to worry about. Dean took a drag from his coffee cup, the burn a little more than just the heat thanks to his not-so-secret ingredient. His eyes flicked to the rearview to check on the doctor, who was staring glumly out the window at the passing fields, his hands constantly fidgeting.

“How’s it goin’, Cas?”

His blue gaze met Dean’s in the rearview mirror. “Oh, you know,” he replied, and Dean clenched his jaw against the sarcasm he could already hear in his voice. “I’m just trying to contemplate what my life means, now that I’m on the run from demons with two people that I know nothing about except that they seem to do this sort of thing for a living.”

Dean snorted. “If only,” he muttered. “The job doesn’t come with a paycheck. We occasionally get a ‘thank you’, but that’s only if we’re lucky.”

The doctor was silent for a moment. “Then why do it? Sam told me it’s because of the people you save, but why do  _ you _ do it? All you seem to do is get thrown around, tortured, and bloodied just to be forced to run from law enforcement. That doesn’t seem like a fulfilling lifestyle.”

Dean smirked at just how right the doctor was. He and Sam had certainly been thrown around, tortured more times than they had fingers for combined, and rarely ever have they come back from a hunt without any kind of injury.

“That’s a good point, Doc. But there’s more to it than saving some damsels in distress.” Dean admitted, his free hand absentmindedly reaching to rub at his forearm just below his elbow, where the Mark had once been. “I mean, sure, it’s great to save lives and know that we make some kind of difference, but… Can’t exactly explain it, but something about what we do just feels… pure, in a way. I know it don’t make much sense, but it can be... freeing. For me, at least.”

The car was silent for a while. Dean suddenly realized what his free hand was doing and jerked it away from his arm, fingers shaking. Though the Mark of Cain had been gone for a while, he could still sometimes feel the effects of it; the want to kill, bordering on a need for that certain calm that came with the brutality of fighting. Dean had never really thought about it in depth before, but if he had to say, that was something that he had always liked. 

He used to hate it when he had first started out, but he’d been able to push past it, if only to impress his old man. Eventually he got used to it, and that thing he had become acquainted with grew to be something that fascinated him. It’s just that having the Mark had made it more intense; where he could think of nothing but the next time he could feel that bizarre tranquility.

Dean snapped himself out of his thoughts and back to the present, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. He hadn’t meant to get carried away like that, lost in thoughts and images that he’d rather deny and keep locked deep down in his brain. He certainly didn’t mean to scare the doctor, which he’s sure is what just happened with the whole ‘killing feels pure’ thing. So, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he figured the best thing was to drown out the awkward moment by turning up the music. If he ignored it, it never happened, right? Right. The universe owed him at least this one time.

Apparently he had turned the volume up too fast, making Sam jerk upright and bang his head on the ceiling of the car. Dean couldn’t help the chuckle that came out.

“Jeez, Dean. I was actually  _ sleeping _ for once. The hell is your problem?”

“Sorry Sammy,” Dean got out through his laughter. “But you can catch up on your beauty sleep when we get home. We’re almost there,” he said, even as he took the exit to Lebanon, Kansas. Dean was glad the trip was almost over; he wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower with wonderful water pressure before he passed out on his bed, in his very own room. It may have been a while since they found the bunker and settled in, but the fact that Dean could have a room all to himself was still a novelty to him. 

Dean could hear Sam making conversation with the doctor in the background of his thoughts, and he was glad that the awkward moment from before was fading.  _ Good job, Universe, _ he thought.  _ Now you just owe me a million more. _

“Where exactly is it that we’re going?” Castiel asked. Dean continued to drive the Impala down stretches of road, passing fields and towns alike. The bunker may be their home now, but it was ridiculously placed smack-dab in the middle of nowhere.

“Don’t worry, Doc. It may not look like much now,” Dean said, slowing down and pulling the car behind a grassy hill. “But I promise it’s bigger and better on the inside.”

Castiel’s gaze flickered between the brothers, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait, you mean to tell me you guys live inside of this  _ hill? _ ”

“When you put it that way, it sounds like we’re real-life hobbits,” Sam joked.

“Yeah, Sammy’s a bit too big to be a hobbit. C’mon, let’s get outta the car so you can get the grand tour,” Dean said, climbing out of the car and being the first to stretch his legs. He tossed the keys to Sam after he’d unfolded himself to his full height and made his way to the trunk. They’d made a few stops along the way, storing up on supplies and gas alike. He grabbed what bags he could and followed his brother and the doctor down the small staircase to the heavy metal door of their home.

Sam inserted the key into the lock and turned it with a smile on his face. “Welcome to the Bunker, Castiel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more thing!  
> If anyone is interested/cares enough to check it out, here's my Tumblr. Ask me questions! Or just say hello! I don't care, I'll be happy with either :)
> 
> https://aftonbells.tumblr.com/


	6. An Easy Transition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while, guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though it's not the most exciting thing. This chapter was originally going to be like, twice as long, but that just didn't agree with my brain, so...yeah. Sorry we have to muddle through some of the mundane, boring stuff, but more excitement is to come!

Sam swung the door open and stood off to the side, smiling as he gestured for Castiel to enter first. He hesitated, not knowing what he would find in the gaping hole in the hill that stood before him, but he considered everything he had seen the brothers capable of the past day and decided that if they truly wanted to harm or kill him they would have already done so. Strange to think that just a little while ago his only worries were if he had enough supplies in his kit at the hospital or if he needed to go grocery shopping, whereas now he was seriously considering if his life was in danger like it was any other normal, everyday thought. Funny the way life turns out.

Cas shuffled his way through the doorway and into the dark. The ground beneath him gave way to something else entirely; most likely some kind of metal, based off the echo of his footsteps. He continued forward until his hands curled around the edge of a rod of some sort. It was smooth, and after tentatively moving his feet closer, he came to the conclusion that it was some sort of railing. Why on earth would there be a railing underneath a pile of dirt?

Castiel had become so occupied with his bizarre train of thought that he didn’t notice anything else until there was the squeak and clang of the heavy metal door closing behind him. He jumped and immediately went towards the sound, sure that the Winchesters had locked him in some kind of underground cellar, left to his lonesome for who knew how--

The place suddenly lit up, dull, dim yellow light showing him several strange carvings engraved on the metal of the door. Cas whipped around, noting that Sam had moved to an alcove with some levers and switches. He must’ve turned the lights on, but where was Dean?

“Nothin’ like home sweet home.” Cas looked to the other side to notice a curved staircase, which Dean was slowly descending. Dean began to whistle absentmindedly as he made his way to an altar-like table with a glowing map of the world acting as the tabletop.

“So, this is the bunker.” Sam came beside him, sweeping his arm to showcase all they could see from where they stood. He turned and looked at Castiel with a smile. “What do you think, Cas?”

Cas couldn’t stop staring with wide eyes. Behind the table of the world, which now had grocery bags all over it, there was a set of steps that led to an open spaced library; tables, chairs, lamps, and floor to ceiling bookshelves all included, each shelf packed to its capacity. The room continued on to another alcove. Partially covered by a giant red curtain, Castiel could just make out the shape of…

“Is that… Is that a  _ telescope? _ ”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Sure is. Come on, I’ll give you the official tour, and you can pick out your room.” Sam made his way down the stairs, leaving Cas to hurry after him.

“What the hell  _ is _ this place?” he asked, following Sam as he made his way down a curving hallway to the side of the open room. They passed several closed doors, all with the same strange symbol. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the Jewish star, though this symbol was clearly different.

“This bunker used to belong to the Men of Letters,” Sam said, continuing his way down the hallway. “They were this secret society type thing that existed up to the late 50’s; at least in the US. Our grandfather was actually a Man of Letters; we learned more about it from him before he died.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cas said, still eyeing the structure around him.

“Don’t be,” Sam shrugged. “He wasn’t around when we were kids, so we weren’t exactly close. It was good to get to know him before he died, though.”

“How old was he when he passed?”

“In his late thirties.” Sam looked over his shoulder to take in Castiel’s confused look. “Don’t worry about it, it’s a, uh, long and confusing story.” He rubbed at the back of his neck before gesturing to an opening to the left. “This is the kitchen.” Sam leaned closer to Castiel. “Dean’s gonna deny it, but he actually loves to cook. So I’d stay out of his way when he’s in here; he can get a little crazy when it comes to food.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Dean snapped, in the process of unloading the contents of plastic bags into the fridge or cupboards. 

“Yeah yeah. You need any help, Dean?”

“Nope.”

“Case in point,” Sam laughed. “Come on, Cas.”

They continued on down the curving hallway, passing a few other corridors that twisted and turned out of sight. Sam gestured every now and then, making remarks of what was hiding behind the many walls. Waving off to a walkway on the right he said; “Down this hallway is where you’ll find the bathroom. It’s got everything a regular bathroom has times 3, plus some lockers against one wall. That’s where we keep the towels, by the way.” After a while Sam waved to the left. “Down there is the dungeon,” he said nonchalantly, maintaining his long stride as if he hadn’t said anything crazy.

“What?!” Castiel asked, freezing in his tracks. “What do you mean ‘dungeon’?” Panic started to kick in, and the look on Sam’s face when he turned to face Cas didn’t make him any more calm.

“Right, sorry. Don’t worry, it’s a dungeon for demons and monsters and such. We could hold humans too, but there’s hardly ever a reason to do that, so…” Sam trailed off, clearly wincing at his own word choice. “Sorry, forget I said that. The gist is we use it to hold demons and monsters we capture; only if we need them for a good while though. It’s just an empty room most of the time.”

Castiel blinked. They bring those things  _ here _ , where they live, and they actually  _ keep them? _ Like some kind of zoo or something? Sam had called it a dungeon, so it was kind of implied that torture would be involved in some way. Cas opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, he just stood gaping like a fish.

Sam chose then to continue on, and though it was an awkward transition, to say the least, Castiel was grateful he was pulled from that dark line of thought his mind was wandering. They were silent until they got to a completely new corridor.

“This is where the bedrooms are. Dean’s is here,” he waves to a cracked door on the right. “And mine is a couple doors down on the left. There are plenty more rooms, so feel free to choose one and make it your own.”

Castiel nodded and looked down, trying to take in all this new information about this bizarre life he was now supposed to lead. He was suddenly and thoroughly exhausted.

“Um, I’m pretty sure Dean’s making us all some lunch. I’ll leave you to pick a room, but you’re welcome to join us afterwards.”

Cas nodded again, barely able to raise his head so he could meet Sam’s gaze. “Thank you, Sam, but I’m not feeling hungry at the moment. I think I’ll just… choose a room and go to bed. I’m quite tired.”

“Yeah, sure. Totally fine.” Sam seemed to sense Castiel’s withdrawal, which Cas was simultaneously grateful and guilty for. “If you ever get confused or lost, just follow the curve of the hallway and you’ll eventually make it back to the front entrance. Let us know if you need anything.”

Cas nodded once more, this time with a smile to show his understanding. Sam gave a pained smile in return before leaving him to his own devices. Castiel walked further down the hall and at random chose a doorway to walk through. The room was rather plain; the walls were bare, nothing on the dresser or nightstands, and the bed was dressed in dull, musty sheets. But those things couldn’t be further from Castiel’s mind. The only working thought left in his brain was to flop onto the bed, and he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

…….

Dean had just finished making sandwiches by the time Sam walked into the kitchen. Placing the food on different plates, he carried them over to the table where he placed one in front of Sam. Dean pulled out a chair on his side and reached for his food, eager to dig in, but was stopped by the sound of Sam clearing his throat. Dean sighed, dropping his sandwich and raising his eyes to Sam.

“Okay, what’s up?”

Sam looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You cleared your throat, Sam. Whenever you do that, some serious, emotional shit is on your mind. So what’s up?”

Sam scoffed. “So, what, I can’t clear my throat without a reason?”

“Well, since you’re not choking on blood, and since we’re not in any kind of danger or hunting anything at the moment, I got no clue as to what else it could be. So, again, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sam replied with a shrug. “I just had an itch.”

Dean eyed him, his mouth working. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” He picked up his sandwich again and dug in, closing his eyes as flavor drifted across his tongue. There was no denying it--when it came to making sandwiches, Dean was an artist.

“It’s just that I’m kind of worried about Castiel.”

Aaaaaand there it is. Dean paused in his chewing to gather himself before he met Sam’s gaze. “Ya see,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at his brother, not caring if his mouth was full. “I called it. This  _ always _ happens.” He took a moment to swallow and brush his hands free of crumbs before he leaned back in his seat. “So why are you worried about Cas?”

Sam played with the edge of his plate. “He seems to be taking a while to adjust.”

“Sam, the dude just became a prophet  _ yesterday _ . You really think he’s gonna be okay with living the life he has to now, right this second?”

Sam scratched at an eyebrow as he sighed. “No, no I don’t. It’s just that when I was talking to him last night, something felt a little… off. It wasn’t the normal kind of freakout I’m used to dealing with.”

“Well, everyone reacts differently. At least he’s freaking out like any normal, sane person would under the same circumstances.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, what was that?” Dean leaned across the table, a smirk showing despite his efforts to hide it. “Did Sammy Winchester, genius extraordinaire, just admit that he was wrong? What is this world coming to!?” he cried dramatically.

Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed at his brother. “Get over yourself, Dean. But really,” he continued, suddenly serious once again. “What are we going to do about this? He’s a friggin’  _ prophet _ . He’s valuable to everyone and everything out there, Heaven and Hell especially, but it’s not like we can just keep him cooped up in here all the time either.”

Dean grabbed his sandwich and shrugged. “So then we’ll train him.”

“Dean, you do realize how long that could take, right? He’s an average Joe; I don’t like the odds of him winning a fight against a cat.”

“Hey, you didn’t see him doin’ yoga the other day. Dude’s pretty ripped, Sam.” He took another bite of his little piece of heaven, taking a moment to enjoy his food before he realized that Sam hadn’t said anything. He looked up, and sure enough, Sam was sitting back in his chair, arms folded, and a knowing smirk taking up his face. Dean didn’t like that look. “What?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Sam said with a shrug. “I just think it might be a bit sacrilegious to get all biblical with a Prophet of the Lord.”

Dean sputtered and nearly choked on his mouthful. Sam laughed at him while he felt his face go red. Dean had been aware of his interest in men as well as women for a while now, but he had never told anyone about it, not even Sam. Once he could breathe again, he chastised his brother.

“Sammy, don’t go there. You got no idea what you’re talking ‘bout.” His voice came out a lot more hoarse, and bit harsher than he intended. “Just drop it,” he said, his tone more gentle this time.

Sam heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. Dean expected him to continue to tease him more, but was pleasantly surprised when Sam respected his request and stayed quiet.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, say we do train him. It’ll take a while, sure, but it’ll be easier to watch out for him if he can handle himself. Where do we start?”

“Well, I guess we can start with the small stuff. We should see if he’s ever shot a gun before, I’ll set up some fake ID’s and credit cards for him, just the basics for now.” Sam finally reached out to take his sandwich. “I just really hope he’s a fast learner.”

Dean’s furrowed his brow. “What happened to your ‘help ‘em’ attitude?” 

“What do you mean?” Sam asked around a mouthful of food. “Great sandwich, by the way.”

“Thanks. I  _ mean _ , you normally love to spend time with people, get to know them and all that crap. Why the sudden need to rush through things?”

“Dean, the new prophet just manifested. We haven’t heard much from the angels lately, and Hell’s been surprisingly quiet. I’ve got the feeling something big is coming our way, and I just want to get as far ahead of it as I can.”

The elder Winchester nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’re right, Sammy. Somethin’s fishy. But there’s nothing we can do about it now. How ‘bout we take a couple of days and ease into the hunting discourse? We just got back; Cas went through hell, I was stabbed, and you’re seriously sleep deprived.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean cut him off. “Sam, don’t lie. We’re both tired. We just lost another family member and then we were thrown into whatever kind of shitstorm this is. We deserve at least a day of R&R.”

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Sam mumbled. “Hey, when did you get all maternal?” he teased with a small smile.

“It’s because I had to raise your sorry ass, bitch,” Dean retorted. The laugh that came out of Sam made Dean smile.

“Shut up, jerk.”


	7. Time for the Basics

The next morning, Castiel jumped awake from a dream of twisting shadows by a knock on the wooden door. He sighed as he took in his surroundings, making the humorless observation that his past nightmares of failing to save a patient were now preferable to his new reality. He reluctantly pulled himself from the sheets, grumbling as he made his way to the door.

The few steps it took seemed to sap him entirely, and he was left feeling more drained and exhausted than he had the day before. He yanked the door open a crack, just enough to stick his head out. “What?” he croaked, squinting against the light shining in the hallway.

The person on the other side of the door snorted. “I take it you’re not much of a morning person.”

His eyes having somewhat adjusted, Castiel squinted his vision upwards to meet the smiling face of Sam Winchester. “What time is it?” he demanded, not caring if he sounded petulant.

“Almost 7 in the morning.”

“How the hell are you up and awake at this hour?” Cas groaned.

Sam gawked at him. “You went to bed right after we got here, and that was around maybe two in the afternoon. You can’t seriously be telling me that you’re tired right now.”

Castiel dodged his gaze to the other end of the hallway, muttering something about the injustice of being woken up so early.

Sam huffed a small laugh. “I just thought you’d want to start the day soon. I’m going on a run, and Dean is either in the library or the kitchen. Go find something to eat; we’ve got a lot to go over with you today.”

Castiel sleepily rubbed his eyes as he nodded. The words Sam said didn’t fully register until the younger Winchester was already out of sight. Things to go over? What things?

Well, whatever; he could find out later. He was just about to turn and crash back onto his borrowed bed when his stomach growled so loudly it was worrisome. Castiel sighed and rolled his eyes at his body's demands. Sometimes it really annoyed him that the human body was so needy. He dejectedly shuffled his way down the hallway Sam had disappeared down, mumbling to himself as his stomach continued to grumble.

Though he was a little out of it, he eventually made it to the kitchen. He helped himself to a large cup of coffee, after having dug around for a mug, and went about making a simple breakfast that would hopefully tide him over until it was time for lunch. He made his way over to the table in the kitchen and promptly slumped down, the plate holding his food clattering as he carelessly dumped it on the tabletop. He chugged a good amount of his coffee before he started to pick apart the food on his plate. His stomach may be empty, but he was in no mood to eat.

“Toast. Really?”

Castiel jumped at the voice, turning in his seat so he could face the elder Winchester as he made his way into the kitchen. His hair was a little mussed, and his bright eyes looked tired, and he slouched across the table from Cas. It was only then that Castiel noticed the tumbler in his hand, filled about halfway with an amber liquid.

“I sincerely hope that’s apple juice,” Cas muttered before going back to picking at his meager breakfast.

Dean shrugged. “It’s six o'clock somewhere,” he said before he took a swig. Normally Castiel, being the professional doctor that he is, would go into an in-depth lecture of how drinking in the morning is not only bad for one’s physical health and safety, but that it’s much harder to stop if one gains a psychological dependence on the liquid. But, Castiel was no longer in that position. He didn’t feel the need to share, or really to care all that much, so he just shrugged and turned back to his coffee. He probably should be worried by his lack of concern, but his mind was too exhausted to do anything outside of performing basic functions.

Cas could feel the weight of Dean’s gaze on him as he continued to tear apart the bread in his hands in the silence that followed. Finally, Dean sighed and leaned back in his seat. “How you feelin’, Doc?” Castiel gave him another shrug, feeling too tired to talk right about now.

Dean looked away at the tabletop as he nodded, fiddling with the tumbler in his hand. “Yeah, I get that. It’s a lot to take in. This isn’t exactly the apple pie life.” Castiel still didn’t look up, but he could tell that Dean took another drink from his glass. “Hunting is dangerous, and more often than not… you lose people.” Cas slowly raised his gaze at the soft, grief-stricken tone in Dean’s voice. Green eyes locked with blue, and Castiel couldn’t bring himself to look away from the unspoken pain that swirled just behind the surface of Dean’s gaze. He couldn’t help but wonder about some of the things that Dean had gone through.

Dean cleared his throat and broke away from Castiel’s gaze, turning back to his tumbler. “Anyway, I guess all I’m trying to say is that yes, this life sucks ass, and it’s not easy, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t live it. There’s still good that comes from us doing our job. There’s some things in this world that only people like us can do. Even if that means we tend to lose more than we gain.” Dean finished his thought by draining the rest of his glass, still not looking at Castiel.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Castiel gazing at the man in front of him like he was a puzzle that begged to be solved. “You… lost someone recently, haven’t you?” he asked softly.

Dean rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

His voice was quiet and heavy at the same time, twisting Castiel’s heart with the amount of hurt in just those few words. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, though in his experience of consoling patients’ families, words meant less than nothing.

Dean huffed a morose laugh, playing with the glass in his hands. The silence continued, and Castiel cast his gaze elsewhere. He couldn’t seem to look at Dean anymore.

“Look, I know this isn’t the life that you chose, but it’s the life you’ve got now. And if you let us, Sam and I will help you out. We’ll teach you how to protect yourself.”

Castiel glanced up to see Dean’s green gaze on him, heavy and void of whatever emotion he was feeling just a minute ago. Dean leaned his elbows on the tabletop. “Do you know how to shoot a gun?” he asked, and the man sitting before him now was so different from the one that was talking about how morose this life could be just a minute ago.

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He settled for shaking his head instead, his gaze dropping again to the plate that now held the torn pieces of the toast he had made for himself.

“That’s okay, but you’re going to want to know how to shoot in order to take care of yourself from now on. We’ll get into that later though; Sam wants to set you up with fake ID’s and credit cards first.”

………..

Sam had set him up with three different identities. “For now, at least,” he had said. “We’ll make more if and when we need to.” His new names were James Frederick Milton, Chris Patrick Slade, and John Paul Jones.

His brow wrinkled in confusion, recognizing two of the names. “Aren’t they members of popular bands?” he had asked, to which Sam gave a smirk.

“Yeah, the majority of the names we use are. They tend to help give us more of a time buffer for when the police are trying to verify who we are. They get so caught up in only seeing articles about the band members that we usually have enough time to leave town before they catch on. We never really use the middle names, unless we’re separated or something.”

Castiel was impressed. Well, at least once he got past all the shock of breaking several laws and the fact that they were stealing money by fraud. But the way that Sam did it, and that every little thing seemed to have a backup for if they ever got separated or in trouble… it impressed him. To some level it was clearly paranoia, but from what Castiel had seen of the life that the Winchesters live so far, it was more than helpful. He sighed, suddenly feeling like he had too much catching up to do.

But the brothers were patient with him; or they at least tried not to show their frustration around him. Sam was the one who tried to teach him the more advanced studies of hacking and creating the fake credentials he’d need, while Dean sat across the library table from them, throwing in a little comment or snide remark every now and then while he worked on his own laptop.

A couple of days passed like this, and Castiel’s knowledge of the supernatural and how to deal with it grew. He began to read through the lore held within the library, going from book to dusty book. He wasn’t all that thrilled at the beginning; who would be when their life is turned upside down and they have to learn almost everything and anything over again. But he came to learn more of what creatures were out there, and though most (if not all) can be extremely dangerous, in some cases the monster can be take care of with relative ease. He read the subjects of Arachne to Ghouls, Rugarus to Skinwalkers, Sirens and Vampires to Werewolves and Wraiths. His mind continuously spun for days just trying to absorb that these things actually existed, not to mention how to kill one. And those were just the flesh and blood ones.

There was a whole other category which was made up of different kind of ghosts: Revenants, Poltergeists, Vengeful Spirits, and Death Echos; though of course there are just run of the mill ghosts as well. Cas had been given the explanation that they were far more common, especially when Heaven had shut down and all the souls were trapped in the Veil. Whatever that means. The only thing that Castiel knows for sure is that he’s been proven wrong so many times in the past few days of what does and does not exist, so he has no room to really question anything’s existence.

He also got to know a bit more about the Winchesters. Sam was more concerned about taking good care of his body than Dean was, who constantly teased Sam about being a ‘health nut’, as he put it. Sam was more tech-savvy of the two, while Dean liked to use brute force to get what he wanted. He learned that though both of them were dealt a bad hand, they were both genuinely good people. They may try to cover it up behind rough edges, Dean more so than Sam, but Castiel could clearly see that they both enjoyed helping people in whatever way they could.

It had maybe been about a month now; Castiel hadn’t really been paying attention to the time flying by. He was in the library, reading more into depth about Djin, becoming fascinated by their ability to trick their prey into thinking that they were living their personal dream life.

“Ya know, that’s not really how it works,” a voice said, making Castiel jump a little. He turned to see Dean slowly making his way towards him, an empty tumbler in hand.

Castiel blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Djin,” Dean said as he took a seat across the table from Cas. “It’s not the victim’s dream life.” He must have seen the confusion on Castiel’s face, because he said with a smirk, “You have a habit of reading out loud.”

Castiel could feel himself blush a bit. Doing his best to ignore it, he asked; “So if it’s not their dream life, what is it?”

Dean played with his glass while he answered. “It’s more of… what their life would have been like had a certain wish come true. Their world can be completely different from what it is now, depending on the wish.”

“Huh.” Castiel leaned back in his seat as he absorbed what Dean told him. “How do you know this?”

“Cause it happened to me,” he said bluntly, still playing with his tumbler. He cleared his throat, chancing a glance at Castiel. Cas was certain he could see all the questions he wanted to ask flitting across his face, but he changed the subject before Cas could open his mouth. “You seem to be doing better. In regards to this whole hunting lifestyle thing.”

Cas nodded, his mouth eventually catching up. “Uh, yeah. It’s been good for me to busy myself with things other than mourning what used to be my life.”

Dean nodded, pursing his lips as he looked closer at Castiel, as if he was sizing him up. “Makes sense… I think you’re ready to learn how to shoot.”

Cas blinked. “Really?” He internally berated himself for how squeaky his voice had sounded on that one word. “I-I just mean…”

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice soothing to Castiel’s nerves. “You’re ready.” Cas looked up into Dean’s eyes, seeing a knowing certainty that he wished he could have himself. Dean jerked his head to the side, before standing up. “C’mon, I’ll show you the shooting range.”


	8. A Multitude of... Things

**_Bang!_ **

The bullet ricocheted off the wall, the flash of sparks the only indication that the gun had even been fired.

“Man, you really suck at this,” Dean chuckled, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall behind him.

“Yes,” Castiel sighed as he lowered his arm and turned to glare at Dean. “I think it’s safe to say that’s what happens when you hand someone a gun without giving any information on how to handle it.”

Dean huffed another laugh before pushing off the wall and coming towards Cas, casually pulling out a gun from his side. He pointed to three knobs along the top of the gun. “See these? They line up when you hold the gun to show you where you’re aiming. You wanna always keep your eyes on the front sight, not over the gun and at your target; you’ll never hit it if you do that. Now when you shoot, ya gotta be sure you’re using the pad of your finger, and don’t just jerk on the trigger; take a breath, and squeeze on the exhale.” Dean lifted the gun with practiced ease and let off a series of shots, not even blinking at the booms from the gun’s chamber. He lowered the gun and Cas got closer to the edge of the designated spot they were using, squinting at the humanized target at the far side of the room. There were three separate holes in the paper, all next to each other and in the middle of the target’s head.

_ Showoff, _ Castiel thought.  _ But still, that’s quite impressive. _

Dean let his gun clatter to the countertop in front of them, his gaze back on Cas. “Why don’t you try it again?”

Cas took a deep breath before raising the gun still in his own hands. He squared his shoulders as he gingerly wrapped both his hands around the weapon. He inhaled, looked down onto the front sight, and squeezed the trigger as he slowly let his breath out. This time the bullet hit the target, but off to the side and in the white, nowhere near where he had wanted to hit.

“That’s better, but I think you’re fighting it.” Cas nearly jumped at the sound of how close behind him Dean was. He came into Castiel’s side view as he continued. “Don’t fight the kickback, and don’t try to control it. It’s gonna happen regardless, so just let it happen. Try again.”

Cas once again squared his shoulders and raised the gun in his hands. He breathed in, ready to shoot, when Dean interrupted him. 

“Okay, alright, take it easy there, Doc.” Cas threw a glance at him. “Dude, you can’t shoot with your shoulders up by your ears. Also, your grip is way off. Here,” Dean came close and put a hand on Cas’ shoulder, making it relax, if only a little. Then he reached forward and rearranged Castiel’s hands, Dean’s own warm and gentle as they worked. “Good, that’s much better,” Dean whispered, his breath warm and voice low against Castiel’s ear. Cas could feel his insides squirm.

“Alright, go ahead and take aim, Cas,” Dean said, his voice still hushed. Cas took a breath, and Dean’s hand returned to his shoulder. “Try to keep your shoulders relaxed, Doc. Whoa, your arms are shaking.” Dean reached the hand that wasn’t on Castiel’s shoulder to his elbow, nothing but a light, warm pressure to his quaking limb. “Relax, and steady… Fire when you’re ready, Cas.”

Cas stayed still for a while, not entirely sure what was happening. He blinked furiously, trying to regain control of his body, and to fight that stupid warm feeling that was growing in his stomach. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself and clear his mind.  _ Inhale… Exhale... Inhale… Ex-- _ **_Bang!_ **

The gun went off, and this time there was hardly any recoil. As proud as Cas was with just that simple accomplishment, he quickly forgot about it and jumped his gaze to the paper target, eagerly looking for where the bullet hit. His eyes danced over the paper, until he finally found it: there, right in the center of the torso.

“Yes!” he cried, turning a triumphant grin to Dean, who had now moved to the side. “I finally hit the target!”

Dean smirked in reply. “Good job, Doc. Did you hit where you were aiming?”

Oh. That put a bit of a damper on Castiel’s spirits. He had been aiming at the torso, but a bit higher up than where it had hit. He could feel himself blush as he admitted; “No, I was aiming higher up… But I still hit it!”

Dean blinked at him before he cracked a smile and started chuckling. “Yeah, that’ll happen a few more times. But good job; you’ll get there, and based off how fast you got a hang of it today, you’ll get there in no time.”

Cas looked back to the target with a sigh. “Hopefully, yes… Thank you for teaching me, Dean.”

“No problem, Doc. Now let’s get outta here; it’s almost time for dinner.”

………….

Sam had been gone most of the day, doing various errands before coming back with groceries, most of which were from an organic farmer’s market. Dean continuously grumbled about having nothing but rabbit food to live off of until he could make a run himself; which, he promised, would have enough makings for burgers and beer to make anyone a true, beer-bellied American.

Castiel, in the meantime, had camped out with Sam in the library, since he had learned a while ago the hard way that Dean really does prefer to be the one and only chef in the kitchen. Sam was on his laptop, while Cas was still making his way through several of the Men of Letters’ collection; this time was a novel about Qareen, a creature that will do the bidding of whoever is in possession of its’ heart, disguised as the victim’s deepest and darkest desire.

Maybe it was because he’d been reading so much lately, but Castiel’s head was throbbing. He idly rubbed his temples and sighed in defeat. Only a little of the tension in his head had relaxed, and it didn’t look like it was going away anytime soon.

“You okay over there?” Sam asked, his hazel eyes peering at him from above his laptop.

Cas gave him an unconvincing smile. “Yeah, just have a headache is all.”

“Did you raid the medicine cabinet?” Dean asked as he entered, carrying a tray with several plates of food on it.

“Nothing seems to help,” Cas said, carefully marking his spot in his book before closing it and putting it to the side. 

“Well that sucks.” Dean placed the tray on the tabletop and handed out plates of food before grabbing one himself and having a seat. “Maybe getting some food in ya will do the trick.”

Dean had made burgers; probably in protest of Sam’s healthier food choices. Cas raised his from his plate. “Here’s to hoping,” he said, before taking as big a bite as he could. He couldn’t place why, but it seemed rather bland compared to the ones Dean had made previously. Maybe it was a bit dry. “Could you pass the ketchup?”

“Find anything interesting, Sammy?” Dean asked as he complied.

Sam swallowed his own bite before answering. “Yeah, there’s a couple possible hunts going on right now. The weirdest thing I’ve found is that in Montana there have been a couple cases of a gruesome double homicide. It doesn’t really scream anything supernatural, but from the police reports, the guy completely beheads a victim only to sew it back on. The other victim he totally slaughters.”

Dean gave a glare to his brother. “C’mon man, I’m tryin’ to eat here!”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Sorry. But I think it’s safe to say we should stay away from Montana right now, what with the beginnings of a serial killer showing up.”

“Fair point, but God, you are such a nerd, Sam. What else you got?” Dean pressed, tentatively digging into his burger again. 

“Well, there’s a few that we could look into, but I think we should go down to Mississippi. Over the past five months, seven different people suddenly went missing, all of them teenagers, and all of them girls.” Sam turned the laptop around to face Dean, so he could take a look for himself. “As far as I can tell, there’s not much of anything supernatural that’s ever happened there in the past, but given the timeline, I figure we should get there and deal with it before this small town gets wiped off the map.”

Castiel listened to the brothers talk about the possible hunt, the two of them already trying to figure out what they were dealing with based off what was in the reports alone. He’d been making attempts at continuing to eat his meal, but the taste was all off, even with the ketchup. Plus his headache spiked painfully with every bite he took, so he settled for leaving his burger on his plate, relatively untouched.

“This place is called Coffeeville? You gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope. And to top it off, it’s in Yalobusha county.”

Something inside of Castiel jerked at the name, making him jump in his seat, nausea quickly settling over him. He slumped onto the tabletop, suddenly not able to keep himself upright.

“Cas?” Sam questioned, his tone cautious and worried. Cas could only whimper in reply. 

A moment or two passed, and the nausea seemed to slowly pass. “I-I’m fine… I think--”

Castiel cried out as his vision was suddenly whited out, his head feeling like it was going to split open. He clutched at it as his body thrashed, dimly noticing when he fell out of his chair.

But then the pain just… vanished. He could feel his body moving, but he wasn’t in any kind of control. He was trapped as something else controlled him. That’s when the flashes started.

Flashes of a town, snapshots of different people and different homes, except for one. The flashes intermittently showed him a worn down farmhouse, the white paint stripping from the walls, moss growing in the cracks and on the roof. Windows were missing, gaping black squares in their place, as if daring him to enter. Each flash showed him a different view of the place, from the side, front, back; up close and from a distance. Trees surrounded the place, all knotted trunks and twisting shapes, their branches long and low and heavy.

There was also a woman; a sharp gaze with kind eyes, a gentle smile, and a dark braid of hair. Different flashes showed her comforting faceless people, dumping salt, slashing at a monster. She had to have been a hunter.

Castiel felt like he was floating, only to come crashing back to himself so hard that he collapsed to the ground. His body shook as he fought to regain control, slowly raising himself up onto an elbow. He tasted something metallic in his mouth and felt like he had spent the past hour dry heaving, his muscles all cramped and sore. He reached to wipe his face, a smear of blood coming away on his hand. Had he hit his head on the way down? He tried to raise himself further from the ground, but his body was too weak.

He heard a grunt from across the room and looked up to see Dean heavily returning to his feet, a fresh line of blood leaking from a scratch on his cheek. But that didn’t make sense. Dean had been sitting beside him at the table; why was he now across the room?

“Castiel?”

Cas turned his gaze towards Sam’s voice, feeling his own eyes widen as he took in the gun that was pointed at him.

“Cas, is that you? Are you back?”

He scrunched his brow as he tried to blink his fuzzy vision back to normal. It took him a moment to find his voice, but he managed to croak out; “Wha… What happened?” His question was answered by a low rumble, though he couldn’t place the words nor who spoke, what with him trying to clear away whatever was muddling his mind. 

“You mean you don’t know?!” someone yelled, presumably Dean.

Castiel did his best to reply, he really did, but he didn’t have control over himself anymore. His head slowly flopped down to the wood floor, and he wasn’t aware of anyone getting close to him until he was lifted and violently shook by his shoulders. 

“Don’t you dare black out on me right now, Doc!” 

Cas hissed at the pain that seared through his head before opening his eyes once more. They widened as he took in Dean before him. Dean’s green eyes burned with an internal fire, though his gaze was cold and calculated. Castiel was reminded in that moment of just what this man was capable of. 

“What the hell just happened, Cas?” he demanded. Though his grip was tight on his shoulders, Dean’s tone had softened. 

“I… I think I had a vision,” he managed.

“Yeah, no shit.” That was Sam. “You drew a picture on the table with ketchup.” His voice was off to the side and above them, probably inspecting said picture. “But,” he continued; “I don’t think this was just a vision.”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” he asked. He was slowly regaining control over his body, and was now sitting up on his own, though he kept his hands on the floor to keep him balanced.

“Cas,” Dean said, drawing his attention back to him. “Your eyes were blue and you flew me across the damn room.”

Cas was confused. “My eyes have always been blue, Dean.” Though he tried to hide it with a roll of his eyes, Cas could see Dean crack a smile before he returned to his feet.

“That’s not what he means, Cas,” Sam said, his tone still serious. “Your eyes literally glowed. When Dean tried to help you, you flew him across the room and yelled ‘don’t touch him’.”

“What do you mean by ‘I flew him across the room’?” he asked, accepting the hand Dean held out to him and the grip on his shoulder he received when he got to his feet. He looked at Sam, but Sam’s gaze was fixed on Dean. When Cas glanced at the man next to him, his gaze was surreptitiously elsewhere, landing on neither he nor Sam. Did Cas miss something?

“I mean exactly what I said, Cas,” Sam answered with a sigh. His eyes moved back to Castiel, the small moment of confusion completely gone now. “When Dean tried to touch you, you yelled and pushed him, and he literally flew across the room.”

“But… how? I’m, I’m not-” Castiel stopped, completely stumped. He had no idea what was happening, let alone why, and it was all getting to be a bit much for his mind to process; even though he had more than accepted that the supernatural was real.  He could tell he was sinking into himself, his shoulders hunching, his arms folded and hands grasping at his sides as if that were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Again. For the umpteenth time in the past few weeks. 

“Why does this keep happening? Why does my life keep falling apart, again and again and  _ again _ ?!” His voice grew in volume, his hands reaching to dig and pull at his hair.

His panic kept growing until he felt a warm touch envelope his hands. 

“Doc, hey, it’s okay,” Dean said, his voice soft and his tone gentle. He lowered both sets of hands from Cas’ head as he continued. “We may not know what’s going on right now, but we’ll figure it out; we always do.” His green gaze was so calm and held such sincere certainty that Cas got lost in it, believing it and wishing he could have that for himself.

Sam coughed. “So,” he said, again giving a pointed look at Dean, who dropped his hands from Cas. “Something is obviously at play here, besides you being the new prophet. But that still doesn’t change the fact that people are disappearing in Coffeeville.”

“Right,” Dean agreed, turning to face his brother. “And not to say they don’t deserve our help, but don’t you think we otta figure out what’s goin’ on with Cas? I mean, depending on what it is, it could have godly consequences, don’t you think?”

“Good point,” Sam breathed. He crossed his arms as he thought, his teeth playing with his bottom lip. 

“But, um, there are still people disappearing,” Castiel pressed. “I mean, I’d love to figure out what the hell is wrong with me, but what just happened,” he gestured around the open space; “Hasn’t happened before. Couldn’t it be possible it was just… some sort of fluke?” He knew deep in his gut that wasn’t the case, but one could always hope. He could be allowed to have at least that, right?

“Okay,” Dean said after a moment’s silence. “Yeah, that’s true. In that case, I think we could split up. Sam, you can stay here and keep an eye on Cas, and I’ll figure out what’s napping all the kids.”

“Like hell, Dean.”

Dean threw his arms out. “The hell is wrong with that, Sam?”

“Don’t act like both of us don’t know that you’ll go in there half-cocked and ready to die.”

Dean bowed his head, hands on his hips, jaw working as he controlled his anger. “Sam-”

“No, Dean! I’m not okay with this ridiculous death wish you have. Yeah, we just lost Bobby, and it sucks shit, but that doesn’t change that I still need you, Dean! That’s something that won’t ever change, no matter how many people we lose.” The room was silent for a moment after, and Cas felt like he had intruded on a very intimate moment between the brothers. 

“Okay Sam, fine,” Dean acquiesced. “So what’s your plan?” He asked, yanking out a chair to sit at the table.

Sam shrugged. “Basically the same, except you’re the one who stays with Cas.” Even Castiel could see the shining mischief in Sam’s eyes and the knowing smirk he threw at Dean; though Cas wasn’t sure why it was there.

“Oh, so you go and get to play hero, okay. What if it’s an entire nest of vamps or whatever the hell else, huh? Neither of us can take on a nest alone, Sammy. Not to mention, you do stupid shit too when I don’t have an eye on you.” Dean ended with a jab on the air towards Sam.

“Fine,” Sam snarked, coming to lean his weight on the table. “Then I won’t go alone. I’m pretty sure Garth hasn’t been on a hunt for a while.”

Now it was Dean who smirked. “What about Eileen?” He said, his tone more than suggestive.

Sam blinked, even as his cheeks started turning pink. “I actually think she’s busy with another hunt right now.” Dean’s laugh trailed off as Sam stopped speaking, his eyes narrowing to search his brother’s face.

An idea occurred to Cas, and he cut into the sudden silence. “Couldn’t I just… go with you? I mean, we can—”

“No,” the Winchesters said simultaneously, not even glancing at him. 

“Fine,” Sam says; “I’ll even give a call to Rudy. Point is, I won’t be going it alone. Happy?”

Dean shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Relatively. Keep me posted on what you find, alright?”

“Of course.”

Cas tried again. “Um, why exactly can’t we all go? I mean, at the very least I could—”

“No, Cas,” Dean cut him off, turning to him. “You’re God's new puppet, and there’s a lot of things out there that want you, and not for anything fun. This is literally the safest place for you to be.”

Cas’ brow furrowed. “But it’s been  _ weeks _ . Don’t you think things might’ve calmed down by now?”

“Maybe,” Sam answered. “But we aren’t really willing to risk it until we have more info.” Cas reluctantly nodded, not looking at the brothers. “And hey, if it’s about helping on a hunt, you can always help me from right here, researching from the world’s biggest supernatural library.” If Cas didn’t feel petulant before, he certainly did now.

“Great,” Sam says, standing upright. “Glad everything is settled. I’ll go make a few calls, and hopefully I’ll get back by the end of next week.”

Dean sighed. “Awesome.”

“One more thing, Cas, I swear,” Sam said, drawing the attention back to him once more. “Do you… Do you remember anything that you saw?”

Castiel thought back, trying to sift past the memories of pain and focus on the flashes he saw. “I… remember seeing a farmhouse. It was white, windowless, and extremely old.” He rubbed his chin, absently noting that he could use a shave while he dug deeper through his mind. “There was… also a woman. I can’t remember what she looked like… but I think the two things are related.”

“Great,” Dean snorted. “What’s the point of having visions if you can’t even remember what you see? How the hell is that helpful?”

“Right…” Sam looked lost in thought, his skin a bit more faded than before. “Thanks, Cas.” Sam gave him a forced smile. “Alright, I’m gonna go ahead and pack up.” He left the room before Castiel or Dean could ask him what’s wrong.

“Okay, weird.” Dean stood from his seat, making his way toward where Sam disappeared. “Why don’t you turn in, Cas? I’m gonna see what crawled up Sam’s ass and died.”

Castiel was suddenly alone, feeling cold and confused. And frustrated with himself that he had acted so much like a child that now it seemed he was being treated like one. But, considering his exhaustion from having the vision, and the throb in his head from whatever he had hit it on, he figured he might as well do what he’s told.


	9. If Only It Were Vampires

“Sam,” Dean called, hurrying after his brother’s broad-backed silhouette. “Sammy! Come on, dude, what the hell is wrong?”

Sam continued to ignore him all the way to his room, where he jerked his closet open and yanked out his duffle. When he turned enough that Dean could see his face, he noted Sam’s tight jaw, and the hard, determined set in his eyes. Dean rolled his eyes before turning and shutting the door, knowing whenever Sam acted like this, whatever conversation followed would be best done in private.

“Alright Sam, enough with the melodrama. Tell me what the hell is goin’ on in that head of yours.”

Sam continued packing, his movements rushed. “Cas saw Eileen,” he cryptically answered, turning back to his closet to grab shirts that he didn’t bother to fold before bunching and shoving them into his bag.  _ Sam _ , who usually takes good care of anything he owns.

Dean rolled his eyes again, hands landing on his hips. “Cas doesn’t even know who Eileen is.”

“No Dean, in his  _ vision _ .”

Dean squinted at his brother. “What? Sam, you’re not making a lick of sense, what the hell is goin’ on?”

Sam finally turned to face him, his eyes wide. “He drew her face on the table with the ketchup!”

If Sam weren’t looking so crazed right now, Dean would have cracked a joke about condiments and preschool crafts. “Sam, if you don’t remember, I was flown across the room. I didn’t see anything that may, or may not have been on the table.”

“Well, it was there,” Sam insisted, tossing something to Dean from his pocket while turning back to his bag. “I swiped at it while you two were making googly eyes at each other.”

Dean ignored Sam’s remark, instead focusing on the stained bandanna Sam had tossed at him. It was one of the ones they kept on their persons at all times, in case of needing a quick bandage or some kind of tourniquet. But it was indeed covered in what Dean quickly identified as ketchup. Huh.

“Eileen, when you get this, call me back. It’s important.”

Dean looked up at Sam, who was just putting his phone back in his pocket. “Whoa, don’t you think that’s a little much?”

“Dean, I am not risking her. You and I have lost too many people already, and I refuse to add her to the list.”

“Alright, jeez,” Dean placated, even as a pang shot through him.

To be honest, Dean knew where his brother was coming from. Hell, if it were him instead of Sam, he’d be doing the same thing. 

The two of them stayed silent until Sam finished packing, zipping his bag closed with a sense of finality. Their eyes locked as he put his jacket on.

“Check in every night,” Dean reminded.

“At 10. Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m coming after you if you miss even one.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I doubt it’ll take more than three days to wrap up whatever the hell this is.”

“Weren’t you just freaking out about it being super dangerous or something? Like, not even a minute ago?”

Sam scoffed. “Shut up, you jerk.”

“Make me, bitch.”

They haven’t used those taunts for years, but Dean couldn’t deny the strange sense of comfort it gave him. And it was worth it for even the smallest of smiles that graced Sam’s face.

“You mind giving me a ride to town so I can steal a car?”

Dean smirked. “Anything for my baby bro.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Shut the hell up.”

………………..

The days that followed Sam’s departure weren’t all that eventful. Castiel continued to adjust to his newly reclusive lifestyle, switching between the quiet of the library and the solace of books, to violent bursts of sound from the barrel of a gun as he stared down a target. Dean, on the other hand, seemed to concern himself with pacing, critiquing Castiel’s stance and knowledge, and overall being a giant pain in the ass. Like now, for instance. 

Castiel had been minding his own business in the library, reading more information about ghosts and their attachments to objects, when Dean came in and pretended to occupy himself with a book as well. He had switched books at least five times in the space of maybe 12 minutes. 

Dean couldn’t seem to sit still. He was full of heavy sighs as he switched positions from leaning on the table to slouching in his chair, his brow furrowed the entire time. And when he  _ did _ finally settle, he would continually bounce his leg under the table, his booted foot knocking the floor with an aggravating  _ thwump thwump thwump. _

Cas was just about to say something when Dean shot out of his chair and began to pace the length of the room. Cas sighed. Maybe if he hunched over his book he could finally ignore Dean... But  _ God _ , what kind of shoes was he  _ wearing? _

“Dean,” Cas finally snapped. “Forgive my rudeness, but what the holy hell is wrong with you today?”

“It’s the third day.”

Cas blinked. “The day Jesus walked out of the tomb? I didn’t realize it was Easter.” It took staring down Dean’s death glare before Castiel reeled in his frustration. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “You’ll have to be more specific. What are you talking about, Dean?”

“Sam. He didn’t check in this morning, and it’s almost ten, and I’m just… I dunno.”

“Dean, it’s perfectly fine to worry about the safety of your brother. But Sam is a grown man, I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“Yeah, well. This hunt could be more complicated than we thought.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

Dean's eyes met his for only a second before they slid away. “Nothing good,” he sighed. “Seriously, if he doesn’t call in the next five minutes--”

Dean had his phone to his ear before Cas could track the movement of his hand to his pocket. When had his phone even rung? “Goddammit Sammy, why are you late?”

There was a minute of silence as Dean listened to Sam’s reply. Cas could only guess what the brothers were talking about, only hearing the muffled timbre of Sam’s voice, but he could tell Dean was immensely more relaxed just from hearing his brother’s voice.

“But seriously, not even a text? What the hell Sam? ...You mean she showed up anyway? Shit… Okay, hold on, Cas is here too, so we can talk about that later. For now, I’m gonna put you on speaker.”

Dean dropped into a seat at the table, his phone clattering to the surface. “Kay, give us the spiel.”

“Hey, Cas, how you doing?” Sam asked, his voice vibrating the tabletop.

Cas couldn’t help his smirk. “Hello, Sam. I’m doing well, thank you for asking. How is the case?”

“Well,” Sam sighed. “It’s a lot more complicated than we thought. At first, we thought it was just vampires and kidnapping, which would have been so much easier, but now it’s looking more and more like some sort of… cultish ghoul infestation.”

“But the lore I read said ghouls feed off of corpses and not living people,” Castiel said, his brow furrowing.

“The doc is right, Sam, that makes no sense.”

Cas glanced at Dean only to duck his head when he got a playful smirk, his insides warming at the simple praise.

“Yeah, but did you miss the part where I said that this is a  _ cult? _ ”

There was a beat of silence. “Yeah, that doesn’t really clear things up for us Sam. So what if these freaks have found religion?”

“Well, they seem to have a female leader that they sacrifice to like she’s some sort of god. All the vics are young girls, around 16 or so, and all seem to have just started a relationship.”

“And?”

“And if you’d just let me  _ finish _ —”

“Sam.”

“ _ God _ , you’re the worst. The point is, the boyfriends were all kidnapped with their girlfriends. But each of them came back.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “Wow.” He whistled as he sat back, a hand brushing through his hair.

Cas glanced between Dean and the phone on the table. “Um, I’m sorry, I don’t follow…”

“The ghouls are replacing the boyfriends, and finding more chicks to serve up medium rare.”

“Essentially, yeah. The whole town is turning into some sort of ghoul city central. Oh, and get this: Eileen has dealt with this ghoul leader before.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Again, Castiel’s gaze lifted to Dean. “Who’s Eileen?”

“She’s a friend. And a hunter, but a really good friend,” Sam answered.

“Aw, Sammy. Don’t get all sappy on us now,” Dean teased.

Sam sighed. “Why do I even… Look. The point is, Eileen had a run in with this ghoul and her groupees before.”

“Do they know she’s in town?”

“I don’t know, but it’s possible. She got here this morning.”

“Dammit,” Dean sighed. “Well, you gotta convince her to leave.”

“But wouldn’t her knowledge be an advantage?” Cas asked. “She’s come across this ghoul and her… posse before.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Posse? Really?”

“Dean, you can’t say anything, Mr. I Love Posse,” Sam chastised.

Cas’ brow furrowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dean says, a flush on his cheeks. “Look, monsters tend to hold grudges. Especially against hunters that were after them and didn’t finish the job. She’s in danger if she stays.”

“I see your point, but her knowledge could be crucial to solving this problem,” Castiel insisted, though he couldn’t place why this was so important to him. “Plus, wouldn’t it be beneficial for everyone involved if we had more numbers? From my understanding, Hunters are always going to be in danger. I think it’s best to increase the number to decrease the odds of something bad happening.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, looking ready to argue, but Sam beat him to it.

“Cas, that’s a good idea, and normally we might do it. But there’s another thing that we have to consider, and because of that, she needs to— Oh, hi, Eileen.”

“Dammit,” Dean muttered. 

“Just Dean,” Sam continued on his side of the line. “You find anything interesting?”

Cas thought he heard a faint feminine voice reply, though he couldn’t make out what she said.

“...Dean was just teasing me about something that happened back when we were in… Damn, I can’t even remember the name, but it was a real funky town. The Five-O there were such jerks.”

“Shit!” Dean yelled, standing so abruptly his chair flew back and clattered to the floor.

“Yeah, that sounds good to me. Hey, Dean,” Sam said, his focus coming back to them through the phone. “Look, I gotta go. But I’ll keep in touch, okay?”

Sam hung up the phone, nothing but the empty dial tone filling the silence in the library. Castiel sat still, watching Dean seeth from across the table. He knew he had missed something important, if Dean’s tense posture and fuming expression was anything to go by.

“...Dean,” he cautioned, hesitant to hear whatever answer was coming. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“They got him,” Dean said, his voice cold and hard. “Those sons of bitches got Sammy.”


End file.
